by Jamie Magee
Declan would use them and lose them, leaving them broken and twisted enough that any and all self confidence was shattered, making them easy prey for guys like Murdock, who just needed a break from the straight line. A quick fuck.
Murdock never imagined Justice being one of those girls, and knowing she was now burned him.
He didn’t move when he heard the screen door creak behind him, but the second he felt the woman’s arm snake around his shoulder he jolted up and glared back at her. She was a rough pick when he was three sheets to the wind. In the morning light, she looked all the rougher. She had at least five years on him, but it looked and sounded like more with her smoker’s cough, pasty skin, and cagy stare.
The woman grinned and crossed her arms as she stood up straighter. “What are you doing out here?” she asked, looking over him, the nasty bruise on his chest, and how black and blue his jaw was. She was sure it was swollen.
“Leaving,” he said harshly.
He pushed inside past her and kicked Jacks awake. He was passed out on the couch with two different girls across him, neither one of them were Faith, the chick who was hard up for Jacks last Murdock heard.
When Jacks took one look at Murdock and laughed, Murdock knew he’d have to avoid anyone who mattered for a day or so. The last thing he wanted anyone to know was that he had gotten into a brawl and not come out on top. Again.
Fuck a Rawlings.
His nasty attitude didn’t go anywhere all day long. He’d gone home, fought with his mother when she asked him where he’d been and ‘what was on his face’ then he crashed, but not before washing as much as he could of the skank from the night before off.
When he finally woke after dark he had a slew of missed texts and calls.
The only one he bothered to call back was Justice’s house. Her calling him made him think maybe he was just still drunk that morning and imagined it all.
Brent Rose was the one who answered. He was the one looking for Murdock and all but demanded he meet him at his shop—well, the shop that use to be Justice’s grandfather’s. Brent had been moving things in for a minute now. He basically used it as a place to sell equipment he came across. He was always looking for a way to make some fast cash. This storm was like the lottery for him.
Not only did people want the help clearing damage away or ‘taking care of things’ during their emotional stress, but they also trusted the town alderman, the man who was everybody’s friend. Who made you feel like a million bucks when he smiled at you or offered his approval. You just wanted to respect him, fall under his favor. So much so, any crazy rumors you heard about him, any bullshit stories the roughneck Rawlings and company said, just sounded insane.
Tonight Brent Rose wanted Murdock’s help unloading all the metal he had picked up around town after the storm. He had a ton of copper, which was worth a fortune, more machines, and nearly a whole fence line.
Telling Brent no was never easy, and since he was offering beer for payment, Murdock knew if he refused Brent would know something was up.
Instead, Murdock hoped his fair-haired stubble would help hide the mark on his jaw as he dressed. Once outside, for good measure, he slapped some dirt on him, to make it look like he had been busy working all day, and to cover his marks all the more.
When he opened his truck door, his bag along with a pile of baseballs fell out.
He squinted from the pain in his chest as he knelt down to pick them up two at a time, and then as he did, flashes of what went down the night before came to him. He remembered throwing balls at Nolan’s truck; he remembered how good his aim was.
Even though he didn’t remember how the fight ended, knowing he managed to get a shot at Declan and Nolan’s ride spread a grin across his face as he loaded his bag and threw it in the passenger seat. At once, he was feeling better. One way or another Declan was gone by now.
An hour into helping Brent unload the trailer, he had backed up to the shop and Murdock was sure he wasted his time throwing any dirt on himself.
He was sweating out all he drank the night before and every morsel of dust in the old shop was sticking to him.
“You sure you want this here?” Murdock asked, throwing down fencing post across lawnmowers that Brent had jacked from across town, ones the storm had picked up and carried away. Brent said he was doing the owners a favor, they could claim it and he could sell them—everybody won his way.
One of the mowers had a busted gas line. Every time the motor was cranked gas came out like a river. The whole area was rank with the stench of both oil and gas. Then again, the whole shop was.
“Those are some good post, nails or not. I can use the wood for somethin’,” Brent said, wiping the sweat out of his dark eyes. His deep auburn hair was so wet it was black.
Murdock wasn’t the only one sweating out the drink from the night before, much less the twelve pack they had already gone through like it was water over the last hour.
“Right, but the wood’s gonna be soaked,” Murdock said, looking down at the last pool of gas that had not had a chance to dry.
Brent waved him off and threw another board riddled with nails and long rebar on the pile, barely missing one of the mowers.
“I just want it in here now. I can sort it out in a bit.”
Murdock didn’t say anything, but he knew Brent was just trying to hide all this stuff before the haze of the storm wore off and people started to question everything, count every penny.
Brent had a seat on a line of interior car seats he had also acquired, and opened another beer before he nodded toward Murdock. “You gonna tell me who got a piece of you?”
Brent Rose and Mary Souter, Murdock’s mom, had been ‘close and personal’ on and off for years. Mary wanted to leave Monty for him, but Brent would be damned if he ended up with another nagging woman he had to put in their place when they went to thinking they had a clue or two.
Brent liked her kid, though. Murdock made him wish he had a boy instead of a girl who was too much like her momma for her own good. And he liked being able to call Mary up any time he felt like it. So, when she called him this morning and told him how tore up Murdock looked, Brent promised he’d take a look into it.
“Too drunk to know,” Murdock said as he brazenly took another beer from the cooler and plopped down next to Brent.
“Bullshit. You’re too pissed not to know.”
Murdock shook his head. He was walking a fine line and knew it. Brent was the only adult he felt right letting know about his whole life. With others he played what role he needed to around them. The good student. The good athlete. The good son. The buddy you could count on.
No one really saw his dark side but Brent, and maybe that was because he sensed Brent knew what it felt like to hide who you were for the sake of some fucked status in a nowhere town.
At the same time, telling Brent he was pretty sure a Rawlings fucked his daughter would not be good for Justice. And under all the bullshit Murdock fronted, he did care about Justice. Murdock was pissed and hurt knowing what went down. Brent would be worse because he was still mad that a Rawlings, or a buddy of theirs, took his ex.
Justice would take her punishment and her mother’s.
“I don’t know, shit with Nolan, I guess. Can’t remember,” Murdock said with a grin that he could manifest at the drop of a hat, a cool easy one. Then he drank nearly half his beer, hoping Brent’s short attention span would lead him to another topic.
“You blacking out?” Brent asked, finishing his beer and reaching for another.
Murdock shrugged.
“Know your limit, boy.”
Murdock, on the inside, was smirking. There was nothing like a blackout alcoholic telling you to mind your drink—a blackout alcoholic who supplied your habit at that!
Murdock nodded to his beer. “I’m good.”
“You don’t know what went down? Looks like he got a good lick in.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. It was more so with his broth
er.” He shook his head. “Declan has a thing for Justice. I’m sure I told him to back the fuck off.’
Brent slowly lowered his beer, rage in his gaze. “That so?”
Murdock waved his hand like it was nothing. “Like she’d notice. She’s always reading some shit with those damn headphones in her ears.”
“You need to set that boy right. Declan?” Brent asked, making it to his feet, staggering as he did so, telling Murdock he was wasted. Any sway, any slur, and you could bet Brent Rose was on at least his fourth twelve pack.
“He’s gone. Big bad jarhead now.”
“Fuck that. I bet he ain’t gone yet and you best be putting him right ‘fore he does. Otherwise, he’ll roll up in here whenever they have their fucked ritual at the end of every summer and run off with my little girl and your woman.”
Murdock looked at him like he was crazy, because he was. And because Justice was not his no matter how much Brent, his daddy, or his mother wanted her to be—she was not his. Murdock had tried. Hell yeah, he had. He’d said every right word, molded himself to what he was sure she’d like. Nothing.
Brent reached down and pulled him up. “I’m serious, son. You don’t let him get a lick in then leave fucking town. Hell no!” Brent said, kicking over the radio that had been playing in the background, silencing the shop.
“What do you expect me to do?”
Right then, in the silence between their words, they heard the rumble of a truck idling. Then they both walked to the shop’s doorway.
As if Declan Rawlings had been summoned—there he was, his truck had crept up to the side of Bell Everly’s home in the distance. In the dark they watched him get out, put a box under the porch then leave.
“That son of a bitch,” Brent said, stepping forward. By the time they reached the gravel path the truck was long gone, turning left up the back road.
“Go on now. There’s only one way out of that street and it’s through here. The storm took out the bridge twenty miles up so he has to come back this way.”
Murdock knew bridge or not, more than likely Declan was going to his buddies up the street, saying his goodbyes.
He didn’t want to stand up to more than one of them at once. Brent may have seen the lick on his chin, but he hadn’t seen his chest that was throbbing with pain, near constantly. Any kind of fight was going to test him.
“I said move it. I’ll deal with that box,” and my daughter, Brent thought.
Murdock drank down the rest of his beer looking for courage, grabbed a few more, and then charged toward his truck knowing he had little choice in the matter. His pride was on the line.
Nine
Nolan Rawlings knew the drive taking Declan to base was going to feel twice as long as it was and suck, but he never realized how bad it would hurt.
It was a given.
It was the first time, ever, beyond a camp or retreat here or there, they’d been apart. They had made it through every milestone in their life side by side and now this—a split road. Declan may push away things he doesn’t understand, but the pair of them both picked fights when they’re broken. It was their way of dealing. It was easier to be mad than hurt.
Nolan knew their ride would be even worse than first predicted because he set it up so Declan could see Justice one more time before he bailed. Nolan was supposed to meet up with her days before but at the last minute, after watching Declan all but break apart when he saw Justice at a distance, he changed his play.
See, the thing was, Nolan had written more than a letter. He had written hundreds and hundreds. He had been writing them since he was twelve.
It was a camp counselor’s fault. He told the kids to never forget their adventurous side. To dream of their next adventure constantly. He told them to make it real, write a letter home explaining all they had done. And then, when they did make it to their adventure—read the old letter, then write another.
Nolan had done so, at every retreat. And sometimes just when he couldn’t sleep at night, he’d write one, dream about where he was going. He’d hidden them all under a loose board in his room.
Over the last six months or so he’d been writing letters to his family, explaining his reasons for secrecy, how much he loved and respected them. How their love and honor had given him the courage to set out and explore, to make a memory or two.
Justice had seen him writing and teased him about having a secret lover. He ended up telling her his plans, and why. And months back he asked her if she would mail his letters for him if he told her when. Of course, she agreed.
That morning, Nolan had taken his time getting his order to go, laughed it up with a few people he knew in the diner, all the while looking out the window at Declan—who took the bait just like Nolan knew he would.
Sure enough, though, Declan left her side too soon and tore across the street to get Nolan.
What Nolan thought would be a ride full of yelling was dead silent. Declan was a million miles away, lost in himself. Every once in a while, they’d pass a familiar exit they had taken in the past for some random reason, and one of them would nod, the other would smile, and that would be it.
At the base their words were tight, not from anger, but emotion. It was real then. They were not there to see their dad, their cousins, their brother Tobias...no, this was Declan’s turn, and he was going it alone.
“Take care, you hear?” Declan said. “Call somebody. They need more than a letter.”
“We’ll be on the road together before you know it,” Nolan said with a tight smile.
One tight hug, hands pounding on the other’s back and that was it, Declan was gone, crossing a threshold that would forever change him.
When Nolan stopped to get gas, he saw the box of letters in the bed of his truck and cursed. He had forgotten about the gesture. Right as he pulled out his phone he saw a text from an unknown number with a ‘?’ and knew it was from Justice by the time stamp alone.
With her next text, she’d told him when and where he could leave them now if he still wanted to. He should have left right then to do so, but he didn’t. He decided to write another letter to Declan, words he could not say that morning.
Then he adjusted his bags so when he finally made it to Mt. Mitchell he’d be ready to go. The task was harder than it sounded. He had compressed and hidden things as well as he could. He’d basically had to rearrange all the toolboxes on Declan’s truck then set his bags just right.
It didn’t take long for him to be recognized near the base. He’d had way too many family and friends crossing through those doors over time.
He ended up meeting a cousin of his for lunch, and spent a few hours with him. Then he called the buddy he was supposed to meet that night and told him he was at least three to four hours behind him, for him to go on and get camp ready.
I knew you’d chicken out, was the instant response he got.
Nolan shook off the insult, just like he shook off the ones his cousin dished out earlier in the day about how he could not believe he was striking out without one look back. “You’ll never make it without your sidekick, and he’ll never make it without you.”
Nolan had thought to punch his cousin because he was worried enough about Declan as it was. For the first time—ever—that morning Declan had seemed like he didn’t want it as much. Instead, Nolan winked and said, “We’re never far. If you fuck with one us, you can be damn sure you’re gonna face us all.” A nod was the only comeback because truer words had never been spoken.
Nolan pulled a U-turn to take the letters back to Justice. He needed her to mail the first one in two days—right about the time Declan’s first letters would roll in. That way his family would know for sure what he was up to and by the time they wrote to or spoke to Declan all would be good.
Justice had told him if there were cars at her place, to leave the box in the ditch, and she’d find it when she got off work. If there weren’t, he could put them under the porch.
Easy enough.
Nolan figured waiting until after dark wasn’t all that bad of an idea, he knew it would be easier to see if anyone was at her house that way. The lights would shine through the Georgia pines.
When it started to mist on him, his one and only hope was that no one would be home. When he saw no lights at the house, he crept up the way and ditched the box under the porch and left with only one backward glance. It was odd. He’d never been there before, but he sensed his brother there, could see him standing on the porch, watching him go.
Nolan clenched his eyes closed and pushed down the emotions he didn’t want to feel and pretended for a moment he was just going on a retreat—he’d be fighting with Declan in no time.
With a heavy sigh, knowing his last task in the town of Bradyville was done, he put his brother’s truck in gear and decided to take the shortcut out of town, before he did, in fact, lose his nerve.
***
When Justice and Bell pulled in their long drive they both glanced in the distance, to the shop at the far edge of the property that basically looked like a pile of wood that was once a structure. Seeing a dim light on was not comforting at all. It meant he was there.
“I’m just going to take you with me,” Bell said.
It was one of Bell’s friends’ birthdays and she was supposed to meet up with them for dinner.
“I’m sure he’ll leave again. Might even be passed out in there,” Justice said, meaning every word.
Bell cast a weary glance at the shop once more. She could see the trailer hooked up, so she knew Justice had a point. Still, something felt off to her.
“I’ll cancel,” she said, reaching for her phone.
Justice grasped her hand. She had heard Declan in her head all day, him telling her to stand up, to deploy all power she needed. It had made her see life in a new light. It might suck for a while, but she knew one thing: she was sick of her and her grandmother arranging their life around the threat of her father and his moods.
