Rough Edge

by Landish, Lauren

  Love, pure and bright, shines through, and I wish I’d gotten a chance to know his mother. She raised a good man, and I’d like to tell her that. I won’t ever have that opportunity. But I have one now with Brody, if I’m willing to be real.

  “Okay, take me upstairs.” My walls are crumbling, breaking down, and it feels like a gush of relief to not have to perform for everyone. To not give, but to take, if only for a minute. To not be hard but to be okay with being weak, knowing Brody won’t judge me for it.

  I want to cry and scream and admit how scared I was to someone. And he’s that someone.

  “Thought you’d never ask, Lil Bit.” He gives me that cocky smirk of victory before picking me up carefully. He carries me up each of those thirteen steps and to the bed, where he sets me on the edge. He pulls my shirt off, tossing it to the hamper, and plucks a ponytailer from the nightstand, holding it out for me. I do a quick twist of my hair, getting it off my neck as Brody kneels in front of me.

  “Can you lift your hips?” I press my palms to the bed, and he slips the cut-off scrubs to the floor, taking care over the bandages. He guides me to lie back, and I sink into the pillow as he tucks me in. “Tea?”

  I don’t remember the last time I felt this small. I mean, I’m a short woman, but I’m like one of those chihuahuas that doesn’t let their size hold them back, barking at the biggest pit bull in the park. Right now, I feel small and vulnerable and only want one thing.

  “No. Will you just lie with me?” A question, not an order, but Brody reacts the same either way.

  “Of course.” He strips down to his underwear, laying everything out neatly over a chair. He climbs into bed with me, curling around me to spoon me from behind. And finally, I can let that last shred of wall crumble.

  The tears come slowly at first, Brody’s breath by my ear whispering that it’s okay and to let it out. He hugs me tighter when they start to rack my body, shakes and shivers from the stress finally working their way to the surface. He traces the freckles on my shoulder, kissing them every so often while I fall apart.

  And he loves me through it.

  The words come eventually, spilling over my lips. “I don’t know what happened. I keep playing it over in my head—he purged, he was shifting, it was fine. And then it wasn’t, and he wouldn’t get out of the car. It was so hot . . . his face, I can’t get that look out of my mind. I need to know that he’s okay.”

  I’m rambling, eyes closed as I see the scene at the track again and again.

  “He’s fine, Dan said so. And we’ll find out more soon. And honestly, I don’t give a fuck about Todd right now. I only care about you.” His voice cracks as he spits the words out and buries his nose in the hair at the nape of my neck. “I thought I was going to lose you before I could tell you that I love you. I wanted you to know that and was so afraid I’d missed my chance.”

  I roll to my other side carefully, the sheet brushing over my legs but the gauze preventing it from hurting too much as I face Brody. I need to see his eyes for this, need to see the dark depths he hides with a front of cocky asshole-itis the same way I disguise my heart with bitchiness.

  “I know you love me. Words or not, it’s in everything you do. Making me those pancakes, encouraging me to follow my dreams, and accepting me just as I am. I know you love me. I love you too.”

  He inhales sharply. “Fuck, that sounds good.”

  “You didn’t know?” I ask, surprised. I guess even I was fooled by his arrogance to some degree, thinking he would assume that every woman in the Tri-State area would fall for him, given the chance. Because I sure as fuck have.

  “I’m not exactly known for my emotional development. I’m a simple guy.” He says it like he actually believes that to be true.

  I snort. “You are so not simple by any standards, Brody Tannen.” But my words are getting slurry as the pain meds kick in.

  “Neither are you, Erica Cole. Get some sleep.”

  I nod, and he guides me to turn back over, snuggling up behind me and wrapping me in his arms. I’m almost asleep, or maybe I dream it, but I think I hear him whisper, ‘I love you’ again one more time. I think I smile as I drift off.

  * * *

  Morning sunlight beams in through the window, rousing me from a deep sleep. For a second, I forget everything and have a moment of panic that I’m late for work. I scramble in the bed and am instantly reminded of last night when pain shoots through my legs.

  “Shit,” I hiss.

  “Good morning, sunshine. Coffee’s on the nightstand.” Brody’s watching me carefully from the kitchen. He’s wearing his jeans again, which is a shame. Not that I’m in any state to take advantage, but I can at least enjoy the look.

  He’s standing at the stove and makes no move to come over and hand me the coffee. He’s letting me get it myself. It’s the smallest, littlest, nothing of a thing, except it’s not to me and he knows it. I let myself break down with him last night, and I think deep inside, I worried he would use it against me or it’d change how he sees me.

  But that’s not who he is.

  I reach for the coffee, struggling a little, and he simply turns around, letting me work it out. That first sip tastes amazing, maybe partially because I got it myself.

  “Enough about me,” I start, knowing that it’s all going to be about me for a bit. “What about the auction you’re supposed to be at?”

  Brody delicately plates a pancake, adding it to the stack he’s already made. “Talked to Mark last night after you fell asleep to let him know I’d be out for a bit. James went up this morning with his truck to help finish things up.” He glances at the microwave clock. “They should be on their way back already. Fair warning, the girls will come by later today too, led by Mama Louise who’s bringing fixin’s for her famous fried chicken.”

  People coming to my apartment? I never have company, except for Brody and Emily. Actually, I usually go to Emily’s apartment because she has a more comfortable couch. So just Brody and me here, our own little pocket of space that’s going to be invaded soon.

  “What about Reed and Manuel? And my parents?”

  “The guys are working downstairs. I gave them the short version. Reed’s fit to be tied, and I almost got into it with him so that he wouldn’t disturb you while you were still sleeping. You need to talk to him today, though, so he doesn’t break down the door or force me to set him straight.” Brody scratches at his lip, though I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it. I’ve figured out that’s his tell. When he’s lying or exaggerating, he’ll scratch his lip like the words tickle as they come out. I don’t think him and Reed are ever going to be best buds, but Reed cares about me and Brody can respect that. As long as he doesn’t cross the line.

  “My parents?”

  His answer is more hesitating this time. “They called a bit ago, should be here in about ten minutes, actually.”

  He walks a plate of pancakes over to me, already cut up like I’m a child. It's on the edge of my tongue to bitch about it, but then I realize that I don’t really care and probably couldn’t cut them while lying in bed anyway. “Thank you,” I say, truly grateful.

  “Your dad is angry—he was cussing and hissing things for Janice to say when she called. But I think he’s covering up how hurt he is. I can see where you get it from now.” One brow raises, daring me to argue, but he’s right.

  “One of the best things he taught me,” I say, though I’m realizing that’s not necessarily true. If I’d just been honest a long time ago, we wouldn’t be in this position, but I covered up my true desires and am going to pay the price in a painful way with Dad.

  Brody grunts his opinion.

  I eat the pancakes, which taste like fluffy, carb-y bites of heaven, while he gets me a T-shirt and pair of shorts. He helps me dress and then carries me to the couch, neither of which I argue about in the slightest. What would be the point? We both know I’m not doing it on my own.

  The best part of the morning might be
when he turns right back around and goes to make my bed. I can’t help but laugh because I know he’s doing it for me and couldn’t care less about it.

  “Thank you,” I say honestly.

  I hear footsteps coming up the stairs and my eyes jump to Brody. All of a sudden, I feel like a teenager who’s about to get busted with a half-naked boy in her room. “Put a shirt on!” I whisper.

  Brody shoots me that cocky smirk, and in no rush at all grabs his shirt off the back of the dining chair.

  I hear Dad snap in the hallway, “I ain’t knocking on my own damn door. I own this place and I’ll come and go when and where I please.”

  Shit. Fuck. Damn.

  I make a mental note to be better about locking that door. The last thing I need is Dad walking in on me and Brody fucking.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say as the door swings open. “Mom.”

  Dad’s eyes flick from me on the couch to Brody standing barefoot and right at home in the kitchen. Mom’s do the same, but she looks pleased as punch while Dad looks murderous.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Cole.” Brody greets them like this is a perfectly normal social visit. “Coffee, tea, beer?”

  “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning,” Dad barks judgmentally.

  Brody shrugs. “Long night. You earned it.”

  Mom breaks the staredown between the two men. “I’d love a coffee, and you can call us Keith and Janice.”

  Dad snorts. “No.”

  Brody pours a cup of coffee and grabs two beers from the fridge. He sets it all on the coffee table and then drags the two dining chairs over. Mom sits down gingerly beside me on the couch. “How are you feeling?”

  Dad eyes Brody again, stubbornly refusing to sit until Brody does first. Finally, I speak up. “Guys, sit the fuck down or pull your dicks out and start measuring.”

  Mom gasps. Brody and Dad look at me with matching raised brows that say ‘really?’ but at least they sit down.

  “Finally. I’m fine, Mom. The burns aren’t that bad, and I’ll be good as new in no time.” That’s not exactly true. Dan said that I’d have to be careful about infection and probably won’t be able to work or drive for at least a couple of weeks. Maybe more. I’m going to go stark raving mad sitting on my ass, but now is not the time to tell Mom that or she’ll plan out an entire schedule of people to come sit with me and play cards. No, thank you.

  Brody clears his throat, and I glare at him, telling him to keep his big, fat mouth shut. He opens his beer and takes a swallow.

  Dad watches, still judging until Brody sighs in satisfaction. That gets Dad, and he leans forward to grab his beer. He cracks his open and takes an even longer drink. Apparently, we’re still measuring dicks.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” I say, clapping my hands, and three sets of eyes land on me. Support—that’s Brody, betrayal—that’s Dad, and hope—that’s Mom, all surround me at once. I focus on the most important issue at hand. “Dad, I should have told you I was racing and I’m sorry I didn’t. Well, not really sorry because you would’ve tried to stop me, but I’m sorry you found out like you did.”

  He narrows his eyes and leans forward, elbows on his knees and beer dangling dangerously. “Just so we’re clear—you’re not sorry you did it. You’re sorry you got caught.”

  “Basically.” I shrug like that should be obvious.

  “What the hell, Rix?” Dad says, standing up. “I said no more! You know why. I can’t believe you’d go behind my back, that everyone would go behind my back . . .” His voice strangles off.

  “We didn’t mean to hurt you, Dad. Big John was important to all of us. But do you think he’d want you to give up something you love over him? He wasn’t even racing when it happened.” Dad flinches when I say Big John’s name. “We’re careful, you know that. The nitrous thing with Todd’s car was a fluke that could’ve happened to anyone.”

  “But it happened to you!”

  Brody is watching carefully, and I hate that he’s meeting my Dad at his worst. He’s such a great guy, they both are, and I think they’ll like each other eventually. But right now, Brody’s got a front-row seat to a moment I’ve been dreading for years.

  “I’m okay, though,” I say calmly, hoping Dad will see reason.

  “You’re not going back.” He issues the decree as if he has a single say-so in what I do and where I go.

  So, that’s a no to being reasonable, then.

  “Yes,” I tell him in a clear, determined voice, “I am. That’s my business, my hobby, my passion. One you taught me, and I’m not giving it up. I’ll be back out there next week” —I gesture to my legs— “not driving, but watching the races, tuning my engines, and doing what I love.”

  “Business? Your engines?” Dad’s interest piques despite his anger.

  “Yeah, custom work,” I say, pointing to the parts on the floor in the corner.

  He walks over, examining the parts on a padded moving blanket and picking up a carburetor I’ve been working on.

  “It’s a bored out Edelbrock for Clint’s ’72 Nova.” His eyes jump to me, a question in the quirk of his brow, and I give him everything. “I’ve been doing custom design work for almost everyone at the track and the car shows. Gassers and nitros, trailer queens and daily drivers, and everywhere in between. I mostly work downstairs, but I store it up here when I can so no one would get suspicious.”

  “Reed?” Dad asks, already knowing the answer.

  I don’t dare look at Brody, keeping my attention focused solely on Dad. “He didn’t know. He would’ve told you.” I frustratingly fight down the urge to stand up, wanting to be on even footing. “It’s not going to happen with him, Dad. It never was.”

  Dad looks from me to Brody, his eyes going hard and cold. “I want you to be happy, honey. You and Reed have always been two peas in a pod, cast from the same die.” He makes it sound like an inevitable pairing.

  “He doesn’t want me anymore than I want him. He’s just too brainwashed to know it yet. We fight like cats and dogs, or like . . . brother and sister.” Ew . . . I think I just grossed myself out. I’ve never thought of Reed as a brother, mostly because we’ve had sex, but over the years, as whatever heat we had when we were younger has cooled, we are more like siblings.

  I shudder, and in my peripheral vision, I see Brody cover his smirk with a sip of beer. Cocky bastard. Fuck, I love him.

  “Dad, I love Brody.”

  Showtime, Cowboy.

  Brody’s echo is firm, even, and full of love. “I love Erica too.”

  His dark gaze turns to me, talking to me even though he’s talking to my dad. “I love when she’s bitchy and brash, putting everyone in their place because she knows best. I love when she’s soft and sweet, but only when she feels safe. I love when she talks about cars and her eyes light up with excitement over five more horsepower. I love how she sacrifices everything for the people she loves, even if it hurts her to do it. I love her heart, her soul, and even that mouth when she’s cussing worse than I do.”

  Mom, who had been tearing up with her hands over her mouth, laughs as Brody finishes his speech. “Oh, Rix, honey . . . that’s all we want for you. For you to be happy with whoever you want, doing whatever you want.”

  At least she has words because for the first time in my life, I think I’m stunned quiet. My eyes burn with unshed tears, ones I refuse to let fall right now, but I have never felt so understood. Brody gets me, all of me—the good, bad, and ugly parts, and he still loves me. Or maybe he even loves me because of the bad parts?

  I would go to him if I could get off this damn couch, but he simply dips his chin. He knows. He understands. And we’re not finished with that conversation, but right now . . .

  Dad grunts, not agreeing but not disagreeing with Mom either.

  “Keith!” Mom scolds.

  “She coulda died, Janice. You get that?” he yells, pointing at me. I won’t say my parents are perfect. They’ve fought over the years here and there, but never about me. Or at le
ast if they did fight about me, it wasn’t in front of me.

  Mom points at me too. “But she didn’t, did she? She could get hit by a bus walking to the store tomorrow.” She turns to me. “Sorry, honey. Just saying.” Back to my dad, she continues, “But you’re not locking her up in a bubble to keep her from getting groceries.”

  He softens slightly at her words, and I wonder if Mom is going to do all my fighting for me. I hate to say it, but she’s doing a better job than I was, so maybe I’ll let her take the lead for a minute.

  “How many smashed fingers did you have? How many close calls when something didn’t go right with the jack or the lift? It’s a physical job, Keith. And she can handle it because you taught her well, just like you taught her about racing. You think I was excited every time you roared down the track? No, I wasn’t, but I never once tried to stop you. It would’ve been pointless, and worse, it would’ve killed you to stop. It almost did.”

  I jump in. “Everyone at the track misses you. They ask about you and talk about you like you’re this mythical god and I’m special because I’m your daughter. Well, it used to be because of that, but I’ve made a bit of a name for myself,” I brag boldly. “Because of what you taught me, RIX Customs are in high demand.”

  Dad runs his hands through his hair several times and looks at the carburetor on the floor where he set it down and the other projects too. Slowly, his eyes drag up to mine and he sighs heavily, resigned to what’s right in front of him. I’m expecting more arguments, more orders, more . . . him. But somehow, we’ve reached his tipping point. “This is nothing like what I can do, honey. You’re . . . talented.”