by A. C. Arthur
Del didn’t find either of them funny.
“Send your text and you get to the front door. I swear some kids never grow up,” he said before pushing past Noah to move toward the end of the bar where he could step out onto the main floor.
“We’re just following your example, as always, captain!” Noah yelled behind him.
Del didn’t bother to turn back but flipped his middle finger to the duo as he left them standing there. They’d always called him captain, and not just because he’d managed to bring up his failing grades from eighth grade to his sophomore year in high school, enough that he could play on the football team. By his junior year, Del was on the honor roll and was named captain of the team. But, as the oldest of the six friends, he’d always been considered their leader. A title he’d never wanted but respected all the same.
He was just arriving at the side door when a large group were getting up from their seats to head out. He smiled and thanked them for coming, wishing them all a safe night as they proceeded through the door he held open. It was a brisk fall night, so he quickly pulled the door closed and stood to the side as he noted another table getting their jackets on as well. With his legs slightly parted, hands clenched in front of him, he smiled and nodded at their guests, feeling a humongous sense of pride at all that he and the brothers had managed to build here. That worked for Del’s grand plan. He was determined that the small-minded people that still lived in this town were going to eat all the negative words they’d ever spouted about him and his friends, once and for all. They were running a fine, upstanding establishment that commanded respect.
The phone vibrating in his front pant pocket tugged Del’s attention from his thoughts and he pulled it out expecting that either Rock or Ethan was texting him with a status of their crowd exiting for the night. He was wrong. Surprisingly so.
MercedesGirl926: Something else I like is a man with strong arms and a great mouth.
On Del’s second turn reading the response, the word “mouth” had his dick jumping.
With a frown as his previous thoughts circled in his mind, Del wondered what the fine, upstanding citizens of Providence would think if they knew he was embroiled in a sexy conversation with a stranger he’d met online. His thumbs were moving as if they had a mind of their own, ignoring thoughts of anyone else but MercedesGirl926.
Del: I like a willing and hot mouth as well.
He typed the words and wished like hell he was going home to MercedesGirl926 lying in his bed, instead of stuffing the phone back into his pocket and forcing himself to smile, while his dick continued to throb.
2
It was after two a.m. So why was she up, holding her phone in her hand, preparing to reply to yet another message from GCSports18?
Rylan was convinced she was losing her mind. These late-night conversations had been going every night for the last five days and in that time, she still hadn’t asked what GCSports18’s real name was. And he hadn’t asked for hers. The subject just never came up, which seemed odd if she really thought about it.
Rylan: Owning your own business isn’t easy, but it has its rewards.
She typed the response to his question about her day.
This is how the conversations always started. He asked about her day. She answered and then asked about his. He answered.
GCSports18: I’m sure it does. Today just wasn’t one of them.
Rylan could totally relate to that. The body shop wasn’t doing as much business as it normally did, even with winter weather making its first appearance by way of thirty-degree temperatures and the threat of their first snowstorm coming this weekend. This was usually the time people brought their vehicles in for everything from fluid checks to brake work, just to be prepared through the winter months. Breaking down on the side of the road in freezing temps or worse, a snowstorm, was not an ideal situation. But this year, it seemed, the majority of the car owners in Providence had vehicles in perfect condition.
On top of that, her father had officially moved out of the ranch style house on Broken Land Drive where Rylan grew up.
Today had actually been a pretty crappy day.
She didn’t type that.
Rylan: Feeling kind of tired. Think I’ll turn in.
She replied and then leaned over in her bed ready to put the phone on its charger and worry about all that was going on in her life until eventually falling asleep—her new nightly ritual.
The phone buzzed with a notification before she could put it down. She sighed, keeping the phone in hand before falling back against the pillows. She stared up to the ceiling but saw nothing because she’d already turned off the lights. The bedroom in her apartment was small. The apartment was small. A studio that seemed like a good idea when she’d leased it a year ago, since she lived alone, but lately had felt more like a box closing in on her. The wind that accompanied the chilly temps pressed against the single window in the bedroom causing a slight draft which required an extra fleece blanket on her bed.
GCSports18: If I were there I’d run you a hot bath. I’d fix hot chocolate and add lots of whipped cream. Just the way you like it.
She sighed while reading his words. She’d forgotten that she told him she preferred hot chocolate to wine. And it never dawned on her that he’d recall any of the things they’d talked about. This was just a casual chit-chat…that had turned into a nightly ritual.
Rylan: That sounds heavenly.
She replied truthfully.
Of course, she could’ve run her own bath when she’d come in just after eight this evening. The makings of her favorite hot chocolate were stored in the cabinet next to the refrigerator in her postage-stamp sized kitchen. But she’d opted for a ten-minute shower and a glass of cranberry juice to go along with the grilled ham and cheese she’d fixed for dinner. That was her idea of a glamorous life.
GCSports18: Then I would rub you down from head to toe with warm oil, massaging all the tension and fatigue away.
Damn. Could she actually imagine the feel of his hands on her oiled body? Hell yeah, she could! And it was amazing. Rylan actually moaned as she closed her eyes and felt herself sinking deeper into the mattress with the thought. Her eyes opened a slit as she typed a response.
Rylan: And I would be forever in your debt.
His response was three smiley face emojis.
She grinned.
Rylan: What would you like as repayment?
GCSports18: A beer and a newspaper.
A giggle erupted and she slapped a hand over her mouth. Then she realized she was the only one in the room to hear it and pulled her hand away. His response was definitely not what she’d expected.
Rylan: That’s what relaxes you?
GCSports18: Yup. But I wasn’t finished. The beer and the paper bring me down from the day at work, but then the warmth of your mouth covering me immediately takes my attention away from the paper. And I look down to see your pretty face staring up at me.
Rylan froze. Well, she went totally still. She was already pretty chilly thanks to the drafty old windows in this place.
Rylan: You don’t know how I look.
She cringed the minute she typed those words because she realized how silly they were considering the tone of this conversation. Surely her looks didn’t matter in this fantasy they were developing. Not that she wasn’t pretty, but it just didn’t matter because they had never seen each other and had never discussed seeing each other.
GCSports18: We can change that. Let’s meet.
Why in the hell had he typed that?
Del ran a hand down his face and shook his head. He was sitting in the black leather recliner across the room from his king-size bed. It was quiet. That was the reason he’d purchased this house at the far end of town, away from the business of Main Street and the traffic of the highway. Normally, that was what he loved most about this place. Tonight, not so much.
He didn’t want to meet MercedesGirl926. His statement to her was ridiculous. Del wa
sn’t looking for a woman. Despite his friends’ crude jokes to the contrary, he was not in a perpetually bad mood because of his sexual drought. For one, not having sex in the last six months was a choice, not an affliction. His last affair had lasted exactly five dates, two of which ended at a hotel. After that, business had become the priority and there hadn’t been time—or the inclination, he admitted only to himself—to search for companionship.
Yet every night for the last five days he’d come home from the bar, taken a shower, grabbed a beer and sat down in this chair with his phone in hand. The conversations with MercedesGirl926 had become the highlight of his evenings. But they were only words on a screen, nothing more.
He checked the phone. Ten minutes had passed and she hadn’t responded. Del set the phone on the small table beside the recliner and stood. He took the few steps to the window and looked out to the tall trees just about hidden by the darkness. This was part of his nightly ritual too. If he thought about it too deeply, he’d admit that his personal life was as dark as the scenery. It hadn’t always been that way, but Del was a big believer in karma, so he’d resigned himself to take his penance in whatever form it came.
The piercing buzz of his house alarm being set off yanked his attention from what couldn’t be changed and Del immediately headed to the oak nightstand on the right side of his bed. He opened the bottom drawer and retrieved the Glock he kept there. In seconds he was across the room, his back against the wall, safety released on the gun held tightly in his right hand.
When the alarm continued to blare throughout the house, Del took the stairs, both arms held straight down in front of him as his hands gripped the gun. The moment his bare feet touched the floor in the front hallway, Del raised his arms and pointed the gun at the back of the person standing a few feet in front of him. Before he could make his standard, “turn around slowly with your hands up,” command, a sense of familiarity hit him.
Lance spun around with his gun drawn.
“Remember we used to cops and robbers in the backyard,” his twin brother said, a huge grin spreading across his face.
“I carry real bullets now,” Del snapped and relaxed his stance before re-engaging the gun’s safety mode. “Why the hell can’t you remember the alarm code? I made it simple enough that you and Camy could never forget it.”
He moved to the control panel beside the front door and punched in their mother’s birthday.
“Forgot,” Lance said from behind. “Got a lot on my mind tonight.”
When the alarm was once again engaged, Del locked the door and turned to face his brother. He didn’t bother asking Lance what was on his mind because he was certain he already knew. Their mother had loved the holiday season. The early years of their childhood were filled with huge Thanksgiving dinners with family coming from several east coast states to share with them and Christmas steeped in tradition and town festivities. After their father’s untimely death from pneumonia when Del and Lance were eleven years and Camy was eight, their mother had worked even harder to keep the same celebratory feel to the season. Sometimes it worked. More times it didn’t. Lance and Del both hated this time of year for similar, yet different reasons, but the common ground was their mother.
“Come on, let’s get some coffee,” Del said and headed for the kitchen.
“Don’t want any,” Lance replied. “I’m just going to accept the invitation to use your guest bedroom and pass out.”
Lance was already on the stairs, one hand gripping the railing tightly as he attempted to navigate lifting one leg after another, the other hand still holding his gun. Del shook his head and went to his brother’s side.
“You won’t make it to the bed without hurting yourself or shooting a hole in my wall,” Del told him as he relieved his brother of the gun.
“Hey, that’s mine,” Lance complained.
“I’ll tuck it in bed beside you,” Del told him.
He slid an arm around Lance’s waist and felt his brother lean into him as they took the stairs together.
“You’re a good guy, Del,” Lance said, his words slightly slurred. “Fuck those DOJ idiots for everything they said about you. They don’t know squat.”
“Yeah,” Del said even though the last thing he wanted to talk about tonight was the demise of his illustrious career as a DEA agent. “We’ll get you into bed and I guess I’m taking your early shift at the bar tomorrow.”
“The bar,” Lance echoed as they walked into the bedroom across the hall from Del’s. “Our bar.”
“Yeah, it’s ours,” Del told him and despite the circumstances enjoyed the hell out of how that sounded.
He stood with his brother beside the bed and turned so that Lance could plop down onto the mattress. Del watched him immediately roll over onto his side, grabbing a pillow to tuck beneath his head. He was four minutes older than Lance. They were fraternal twins, but had similar body builds, the same sepia complexion, shared a love of all sports, and despised spinach and broccoli. They’d also both entered into law enforcement careers, only to have them come crashing down around them. His jaw clenched at the memory of the night he received the call that Lance had been shot. The sting of fear pierced his chest as if were just yesterday and not almost two years ago. Del couldn’t take losing another person he loved and was grateful every day since, that his brother’s life had been spared. Even if it meant Lance was sentenced to a form of living hell instead. The PTSD his twin suffered after the events of that fateful night was exacerbated by Lance’s stubborn refusal to take the prescribed medication. Add to that the bitterness Lance still clung to after learning his girlfriend of eight years had left him for her trainer, and his brother was like a ticking time bomb. Del vowed to be there the moment he blew.
Del eased his hand behind his back, tucking Lance’s gun in the waistband of his pants alongside his own. When he thought Lance was already asleep, Del removed his brother’s shoes and turned to leave the room.
“You think she’d be proud of us?” Lance asked, his voice as soft as a child’s.
Del stopped and hung his head low. They would both forever fight this same internal battle with guilt.
“I hope so,” he replied.
Seconds later, he closed the door to the guest room and returned to his own where he sat once again in the recliner across from his bed. Del did hope that their mother would be proud of the way they’d begun to rebuild their lives yet again. He actually prayed daily that she would, but he wasn’t certain. He knew he could never be certain because his mother was no longer here for them to ask.
On a heavy sigh, he picked up his phone. Still no response from MercedesGirl926. It was just as well. He was too tired to deal with any more conversation tonight. And he’d been through too much to think that meeting a woman online would help assuage the turmoil smoldering inside of him.
He got up from the chair and went to the nightstand to plug his phone into its charger. Then he climbed in his bed. He closed his eyes immediately and refused to let his mind wonder what MercedesGirl926 looked like, or how she kissed, or tasted. It didn’t matter. Knowing wouldn’t erase the past or change the future he knew he had to accept.
But it might ease the burning desire he’d developed for this woman whom he’d never seen. He could only hope.
3
“You’re so tough and opinionated, why don’t you buy it?”
Rylan hated a dare. And she definitely hated when it came from her older sister, Naomi.
“I’ve actually been considering that very option,” Rylan replied and pressed the knife down so hard on the softened sweet potato that she almost chopped off her finger.
Her mother would have totally freaked if that happened. Not because Rylan would have been fingerless and probably bleeding profusely, but because said blood would be splattered all over Estelle’s newly renovated, pristine kitchen.
“You are not buying that rundown body shop,” Estelle chimed in. “That’s just ridiculous and a total waste of your li
fe. It’s bad enough you’ve spent the bulk of your formative years under the hood of a car wearing grease smudges instead of MAC products. But I will not stand by and watch you throw away your future to such a dingy and worthless effort.”
The judgmental and chastising tone was Estelle Janet Kent’s trademark. The former ballet dancer turned math teacher and in the last five years principal of Old Kenton Middle School, Estelle was the epitome of Black elegance. From the stylish clothes that flanked her still-svelte at fifty-eight figure, to her impeccably styled ink black hair and expertly applied make-up, she was educated, classy and not-to-be-messed with. Especially not by her youngest and most disappointing child.
Rylan retrieved the chunk of potato that had rolled across the marble-top counter, dropping it into the bowl in front of her.
“It’s our legacy,” Rylan said in a tone lower and more subdued than she was accustomed to using. Except for whenever she was around her mother and Naomi. They were a dynamic duo that Rylan had never quite adjusted to, even after being around them for all of her twenty-seven years of life.
“My legacy is not dirt and grime,” Naomi said. And as if her words hadn’t made her point clear enough, the way her sister crinkled her perfectly pert nose and rolled her pretty brown eyes, reflected every bit of the disgust she felt toward Kent Automotive.
“Fifteen pageant titles, domestic and international. Interviews in Marie Clare and Vogue. A degree in political science and dating Ellis Colby, star NBA point guard, is a legacy,” Naomi announced with a wink in Rylan’s direction.
Rylan shook her head and returned her attention to the sweet potatoes. Naomi was thirty-two years old. She was five feet, ten inches tall with amber-colored eyes and a tawny complexion. Her hair was in a messy but chic style today, dark brown with honey gold highlights. She wore a lacy top that tied in the back and hunter green slacks. The most casual thing she’d done since walking through the door of their parents’ house was take off the five-inch heeled natural-colored pumps and walk barefoot into the kitchen.
