All Our Worst Ideas

by Vicky Skinner

  She bites her lip and scoots closer to me. “Oh, Oli. Just admit that you love me. Why else would you have stuck around as long as you have?”

  It’s true that I love Brooke, the way you would love any boss that you’ve worked with for three years, the way you love the person who has somehow become your best friend while you weren’t paying attention. And of course, the way you love someone who is almost ten years older than you, not romantically interested in someone of your gender, and also a giant pain in the ass.

  I don’t have a great hand. Two pair.

  Marshal shifts and then curses when his elbow smacks into a shelf of CDs, causing them all to clatter to the floor. “Why can’t we set up the poker table out there?” he asks, pointing a finger over his shoulder to the open door of the stockroom, out to where the shop lies empty and quiet.

  Brooke scoffs. “And let a passing customer see that we’re gambling inside our business?”

  I snort. “We’re playing for vinyl. Not exactly high-stakes poker.”

  Brooke scans the cards in her hand. “Whatever. When you’re in charge of managing your wife’s business, you can decide where and when you want to have your poker games. I’m not taking any risks here.”

  Brooke and her wife, Lauren, used to run the shop together, but now Lauren goes to law school while keeping her title as owner of the place, which her parents left her when they died.

  “Well, I don’t have any worries then because I’m never getting married.”

  Brooke laughs. “Oh, give me a break, Oli. You’ll meet someone, fall madly in love, and probably marry, to the great disappointment of your parents, just like I did.” She says the last part so casually that I honestly believe it doesn’t bother her that her parents haven’t spoken to her since she married Lauren.

  “I’m not the marrying type. Hell, I’m not the relationship type.”

  Brooke purses her lips and looks at me, her eyes scanning me up and down like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Yeah, right. You’ve got hopeless romantic written all over your sullen attitude.”

  Completely unbidden, I think about Amy, which I’ve been trying very firmly not to do. But I can’t seem to get her out of my head, and it’s only getting worse.

  As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking, Marshal pipes up, “What do you guys think about Amy?”

  I grind my teeth together and keep my eyes on my cards. I swear to God, if he’s about to announce his intention to ask her out …

  But I guess it doesn’t matter, since she has a boyfriend.

  “Cute as hell,” Brooke says immediately, and I snap my eyes over to her. She thinks Amy is cute? I guess I’m not all that surprised. Amy is cute as hell. “But Oli hates her.”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t hate her. She’s just…”—sweet, funny, adorable, smart—“… weird.”

  Brooke smiles at me, but not in a nice way. “She’s weird because she’s not a brooding piece of work, like you?”

  My phone rings. Saved by the bell. I pull my phone out of my pocket, fully expecting it to be Mom, calling to let me know that she’s home from work, like she always does when she works late into the night.

  But it isn’t my mom. I sigh.

  Brooke nods at my phone. “What’s up?”

  “It’s my dad.” I want to not answer. God, I want it. Why does it have to be tonight? Why does it have to be when I’m having fun with my friends? When I’m attempting to have a normal life? Why can’t he just stay sober for one weekend?

  “Yeah?” I say, pressing my phone to my ear.

  “He doesn’t like his dad?” I hear Marshal whisper to Brooke at the same time that I hear a familiar voice in my ear.

  “Hey, Oliver. It’s Carson. Come get your dad, please. He hasn’t passed out yet, but he’s gettin’ close. Barfed on a guy’s shoes already.” Carson is the bartender at my dad’s favorite bar, the one he passes out in with the most regularity.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Brooke is frowning by the time I hang up. “You have to go?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Can’t leave him there. Sorry. Here.” I toss the CDs I brought from my own collection into the pot and put on my jacket.

  “Aren’t you here first thing in the morning?” Marshal asks.

  “I’m always here,” I tell him.

  OLIVER

  “NEED HELP GETTING him out to your truck?” Carson asks as I throw my father’s arm over my shoulder. He’s still conscious, but barely. His eyelids droop but he smiles at me nonetheless.

  “Oli, m’boy,” he slurs. “You’re here. How nice.” He draws out the last word so that he sounds like a hissing snake, and he’s spitting on me.

  “Dammit, Dad. Stop.” He smells like cheap whiskey, and if he keeps it up, I will, too. “Thanks, but I’m good,” I tell Carson. I’ve dragged Dad out of so many bars that I have legitimate biceps from hauling his weight.

  Out by my truck, I shift him to one side and open the door to the cab before forcing him up and onto the back seat. He isn’t wearing a jacket, and I’m almost certain he left it inside the bar, but there’s no way I’m going back in for it. I lay him down on his side, just in case he pukes again, and I’m leaning down over him to make sure he can breathe okay when he burps in my face.

  “Dear God,” I groan. “Did you drink all the whiskey they had?”

  He laughs, a strange gurgling noise in his throat.

  “Try not to fall off the seat.” I slam the back door shut and sigh, my hands still pressed to the side of my truck. My father’s court date is in twelve days. If he gets caught doing something else stupid before he can even answer for the last thing, he’s screwed. I text my mom to let her know that I have to take Dad back to Independence. Why the hell can’t he drink there instead of the northern side of Kansas City?

  I get on Highway 70 and head for Independence. Now that I’m sitting still, with my stereo off and the darkness closing in around us as we move farther from downtown, I’m starting to feel a little groggy myself.

  My headlights catch a figure on the side of the road. The closer we get, the better I can see that it’s a girl, a girl with long dark hair, walking down the road in skintight jeans and wedge shoes.

  I’m not sure if it’s the hair or the way she walks or the curve of her hips, but there’s something about her that’s so familiar that I slow down. From behind, she looks like Amy. And then I realize, it is her, and my stomach does a weird jumbled thing.

  I’m the only car on the road as it’s almost one in the morning, and I pull off a few feet in front of her, hoping I’m not going to scare the shit out of her. What the hell is she doing, walking down the highway in the middle of the night? I look in my rearview mirror and realize that she’s stopped walking, her eyes on my truck and her hands balled into fists. Shit. I definitely scared her. I push my door open slowly. I don’t want her to think I’m some creep about to attack her.

  “Amy?” I call out. I put my hands up in the air, the only way I can think to show her I’m harmless.

  There’s something about the way her body sags, the way her relief is visible, that makes my stomach flip-flop again. She’s relieved to see me.

  “Oliver?” she calls out, finally continuing her walk toward me.

  “Do you need a ride?” I ask before she’s even gotten to me. It’s freezing, and even though she’s wearing a coat, when she’s finally close enough for me to see her face, I can see that her cheeks and nose are red. How long has she been walking out here?

  I see her moment of hesitation, and all the warm feelings I got when she seemed relieved to see me vanish. She doesn’t trust me. I can see it on her face, the way her eyes flit to my truck and then back to me. And I guess I get it. She doesn’t really know me. We’ve only been working together for a month, and we both know the kind of horrors humans are capable of.

  Before I have the chance to reassure her, she smiles at me, showing all her teeth in the shadow of my truck. �
��That would be nice. Thank you.”

  “You’re not listening to music” is the first thing she says to me when we get in the truck. “That’s weird.”

  Of course, that’s her first thought. Any time Amy is on break, she either has music blaring out of the speaker of her phone or has her earbuds in her ears, the music up so loud that she can’t hear me trying to get her attention.

  I point my thumb over my shoulder. “He doesn’t like my music.” I almost regret drawing her attention to him, but she’s going to figure out he’s back there eventually.

  Her eyes travel over her shoulder, into the back seat. She blinks. “Is that your—”

  “Dad,” I finish before she can.

  She doesn’t ask why my father is passed out on the back seat, but maybe it’s obvious. She doesn’t say anything, and we ride down the highway to the sound of my tires crunching over the asphalt.

  “Where’s your car?”

  She doesn’t answer for a long time, and I realize she hasn’t even told me if I’m going in the right direction, where her house is. I guess I’m still driving to Independence.

  “It’s pathetic and embarrassing,” she finally says.

  I just wait for her to tell me or not tell me.

  “I decided to go to this party tonight because…” She pauses. I think she might not continue, but finally, she does. “Because I wanted to try to show my ex that we still belong together.”

  Her words do weird things inside my gut. “I thought you had a boyfriend?”

  She sighs. “I lied. This week, he told me he wanted to take a break, whatever the hell that means. I thought if I went to this party and looked amazing, I could get him back. But he just told me to leave instead, and then I pissed off his best friend, who stole my keys and wouldn’t give them back, so I just left without my car. My house isn’t that far.”

  My brain tries to process everything at once, but there’s too much information to decipher. She went to a party hoping to get her ex back. I have to push past that part. And then some asshole stole her keys? And she’s just going to let him? She’s just going to walk home and, what, abandon her car? This person is just going to get away with this?

  Yeah, not gonna happen.

  I slam on my breaks and do a U-turn on the highway. I hear my father groan behind me at the same time that Amy gasps. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re going back for your car.”

  “What?”

  I speed back the way we came. “You’re going to tell me where this party is, and we’re going to get your car.”

  She’s quiet for a second, and when I look over at her, she’s worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

  “Okay?” I ask.

  She nods, her eyes wide, her body turned toward me in her seat. “He lives in Mission Hills.”

  “Okay, I’m going to need you to explain a few things to me,” I tell her, pressing my foot down even harder on the gas pedal.

  “Okay,” she says, but I hear the wariness in her voice.

  “First, how did someone even get your keys? And second, what were you going to do about your car? Just never go back?”

  She settles back in her seat, the seat belt retracting against her body. “Bryce snatched them out of my pocket. I didn’t bring anything with me but my keys, so it was an easy grab. And he would have given them back eventually.” She’s quiet for a beat. “At least, I’m pretty sure he would. Maybe not for a few days. But I could just take the spare from my stepdad.”

  I clench my jaw. “That’s bullshit.”

  She shrugs. “I’m used to it.” She looks down at her hands and rubs them together. They’re probably frozen solid.

  I reach over and turn the heat up as high as it’ll go and shoot her a look. “Why are you used to it?”

  She shrugs again. “I’ve never been Bryce’s favorite person. I’m not really anybody’s favorite person. When you’re the goody-goody who’s always a week ahead on all the assignments and never goes to the parties, you’re either invisible or a target for humiliation.”

  “Did you just use the term goody-goody?”

  She sends me a blank look.

  I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. I never would have pegged her as someone who’s used to being bullied. “You always seem so confident.”

  She sniffs and raises her head, and I swear on every beating heart on this planet that if she’s crying because of these asshats, I’m going to rip them apart. When I look over, she’s wiping her nose on the back of her hand, but she’s using her hair to shield her face, so I can’t tell if she’s crying or she’s just cold.

  “I’m going to California soon, and when I get there, none of this will matter.” She laughs bitterly. “Jackson and me being together was a fluke anyway. My greatest turn of luck. But he changed his mind, and I guess I can’t be all that surprised. He was always way out of my league.”

  I don’t look at her. I don’t want her to know how preposterous I think that idea is.

  “This is his house right here.”

  There’s nowhere to park in front of the big house, which is perfectly fine by me. I pull halfway down the street, park in front of a house that’s completely dark, and pop open my door. “What kind of car do you drive?” I ask Amy, one foot already on the pavement.

  Her eyes go wide. “Wait. What?”

  I don’t wait for her to answer. I slam my door shut and make my way around the front of my truck. She scrambles out of the passenger seat and throws a glance to the back seat. “Is he okay alone here?” she asks.

  “He’ll be fine. What kind of car do you drive?” I ask again.

  She catches up to me halfway up the front lawn.

  “Oliver,” she says behind me, her voice laced with nerves. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

  I stop, my boots sinking a few inches into the fresh snow in the grass. “Do you want your car back?”

  She blinks. “It’s a Honda Civic.”

  I nod and head for the front door. The music inside the house is thumping so loud that I feel it rattle all the blood in my veins. I stand in the open doorway and watch as no one notices us. People writhe around, and something about the smell of alcohol in the air makes me irritable. I’m already plenty pissed on Amy’s behalf, but I’ve never been one for parties, so this is particularly frustrating.

  Over in the corner of the room, I spy what I’m looking for. On top of a long table runner is an iHome. It’s plugged into a huge speaker system by a million cords, and without even thinking about it, I push my way into the room, around the bodies coming at me from every direction. I turn quickly to make sure that Amy is still behind me, but she’s frozen by the front door, her hands curled in front of her and her eyes sweeping the room. I pause, wanting to go back and get her, but if I can just make this end for her, get her car back and let her go home, she’ll be much happier.

  So when I’m close enough, I reach out and rip the iPod from the dock, and the room falls silent. Immediately, people start to look around, trying to figure out what’s going on. And on the other side of the room, pressed against the bottom of the stairs, I see a guy sitting on a dining room chair with an honest-to-God crown on his head. I recognize him from the day he stood outside Spirits with Amy, whispering in her ear. I hate him already.

  “Hello, everyone!” I shout over the din of people trying to figure out who’s hijacked their party. “I’m looking for the shit-stick who stole my friend’s car keys. My friend’s name is Amy, and she drives a Honda Civic. Sound familiar to anyone?” I keep my eyes on Jackson, who’s slowly standing from his throne.

  Someone grabs on to my shoulder and spins me around, and I’m looking down at a short, stocky guy in khaki shorts and a polo. His hair is all messed up, and his mouth is all swollen, and I’m a little embarrassed for him.

  “You Bryce?”

  The guy scowls at me. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

  I pu
t my hands up, but not in a way that would make him think I’m ready to surrender. “I’m just here to get Amy’s keys back. Give them to me, and I’ll gladly leave.”

  His eyes shoot to Amy, still standing over by the door, watching us. I don’t miss the fact that her ex is looking at her, too.

  Bryce nudges me, and I want to punch him. “What are you going to do if I refuse? Beat me up?”

  I snort. “Look, I’m not much for fighting. I’d rather just let the cops take care of it. How many underage kids do you think you have crammed in here? How much have you had to drink, Bryce?”

  He doesn’t even blink.

  “You seem like a charming guy. You can probably get off with a warning on the whole alcohol thing. But the car? Well, technically, if you stole Amy’s keys, you stole the whole car. How much time do you think you’d get in juvie for grand theft auto? Oh, wait. Are you eighteen? Make that jail.” I don’t know if any of this is true, but it sounds legit, and it’s putting traces of fear in Bryce’s eyes, so I go with it.

  But then Bryce makes a kind of horse noise with his big lips. “They’re not gonna put me in jail for taking her car keys.”

  “You willing to risk it?”

  He blinks up at me, and the fear is back. Chances are good that if the cops show up, they’ll just ask Bryce to give Amy her keys, tip their hats, and move on. But a coward like Bryce isn’t about to chance that we might catch them on a bad day.

  “Fine,” Bryce says, rolling his eyes and reaching into one of the cargo pockets of his shorts. “Here.” He dangles the keys in front of my face, and I snatch them away quick.

  When I turn back to where Amy is standing, it isn’t to find the scared-looking girl I saw a moment before. Amy is looking at me, and she’s smiling so big that every light in the room dims in comparison. I can’t help but smile back. What is this girl doing to me?

  When I get to her, I hand her the keys, and maybe she doesn’t notice the way her fingertips brush mine, but I notice, and it sends chills up my arm.

  Once the keys are firmly in her hand, she turns and looks at Jackson, and so do I. He hasn’t moved an inch since the last time I looked. I see the pride in Amy’s eyes when she turns and walks out of the house.