Something Tattered (Joel Bishop Book 1)

by Sabrina Stark

  Finally, she gave another sigh. "Oh, okay. He was a stripper. But he didn't strip. So it doesn't count. See?"

  It made sense, in an Aunt Gina sort of way. Still, I needed to find some way to make her understand without hurting her feelings. I searched for the words, but came up empty.

  Into my silence, she said, "Hey, I told him, up-front, 'You take off one single thing, mister, and you're gonna hear about it.'"

  I gave her a pleading look. "But he was still a stripper."

  She was frowning now. "I don't get it. He told me you had a great time last night."

  "I did. Honest." But not because of the cowboy.

  "Then what's the problem?" She gave me a hopeful smile. "Yee-ha."

  "No." I shook my head. "No yee-ha."

  Her eyebrows furrowed. "No yee-ha?"

  "No. Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment." Now that I'd started this, I was determined to finish. "Look, Aunt Gina, I know you mean well…"

  "But?"

  "But that kind of stuff isn't my thing, you know?"

  "Why not?"

  "For starters, because it's embarrassing."

  "Not to me."

  The funny thing was, she was telling the truth. I'd seen my aunt with strippers, mine mostly. When they did their thing, she was like April on steroids.

  Desperately, I tried to explain. "Yeah, but I'm not you." I took a deep breath. "It's really, really nice of you. And I know you mean well, but I don't want that kind of attention."

  "You mean from guys?" She paused. "Want me to send a girl next time?" She perked up. "Because they've got those, too."

  Oh, God. As if the regular news stories weren't bad enough. "No. That's not it. I just don't like everyone looking at me."

  "But that's silly."

  I made a sound of frustration. "Why is it silly?"

  "Because everyone always looks at you."

  Sadly, I couldn't even argue. I took a subtle look around. Technically, only a few people were looking, but they were strangers, touristy types mostly. As far as the locals, they treated me just like they treated everyone else.

  And I loved them for it.

  I considered myself one of them, even if my life was freakishly different than most of theirs.

  It was a nice setup, and I had my parents to thank for it. In spite of their apparent wealth, they'd made a genuine effort to have me grow up as – in their words – a normal kid.

  That's why they'd settled here, instead of New York or Chicago. And that's why I went to public school, had regular chores, and regular friends. It was why – thank God – I didn't mind working for a living or cleaning my own house.

  Aunt Gina smiled. "So, if they're gonna stare anyway, you might as well embrace it, right? You know, have some fun with it."

  Fun? My gaze landed on a far table, where an older couple was whispering and pointing – at me, of course. I didn't need to hear them to know what they were saying. See that girl at the far table? She's the daughter of that rich artist who flew his plane into Lake Michigan.

  The rest of the conversation was equally predictable.

  I hear she inherited a ton of money.

  Do you think he killed himself?

  I hear his wife was screwing their lawyer.

  I gave the couple an annoyed look. Far from being deterred, the woman pulled out her cell phone and held it out in front of her. As I watched, she pretended to check her messages or whatever.

  Nice try, lady. I'd seen that trick before.

  Sure enough, the telltale flash came a moment later. As I watched, she and her companion studied the photo. Soon, she was holding up her phone again in the same exact way.

  Another flash, another look, another urge – from me, to rip that thing out of her hands and shove it where the sun didn't shine.

  Aunt Gina said, "Did you hear what I just said?"

  I blinked. "Sorry. What?"

  "I said, you always were more like your mom."

  Instantly, I felt that familiar pang. My mom was Aunt Gina's sister. But where Aunt Gina was crazy and flamboyant, my mom had been the introverted type. She played the piano and the flute, and sang beautifully from what I recalled.

  As if reading my mind, Aunt Gina said, "You know why they named you Melody, don't you?"

  I did know. I'd been told a hundred times. But it was a story I loved to hear, so all I said was, "Because my mom loved music, right?"

  My aunt got that familiar faraway look in her eyes. "Oh yeah. She loved music. And your dad loved her. They were so crazy together. I never saw anything like it." Her voice grew quiet. "I really miss her, you know." She smiled. "Your dad, too."

  She reached across the table and gave my hand a tender squeeze. "But at least I have you."

  A sad smile tugged at my lips. "And I have you."

  My aunt gave a weak laugh. "And don't forget the cowboy."

  "Uh, yeah," I said. "About him. Will you promise? I mean really promise this time?"

  Chapter 26

  "So," Cassie said, "did she promise?"

  "Sort of."

  It was late Sunday afternoon, and I was sitting on the front porch steps, talking on the phone with Cassie.

  I'd called to verify that she still needed me to work tomorrow. Or at least, that was my official reason. My unofficial reason was that I was dying to hear more about that fight she witnessed between Joel and Derek.

  On the night of my birthday, I never did get the chance to ask.

  But first things first. I thanked her for the party and apologized for being such a bad sport about the stripper. One thing led to another, and I ended up telling her about my conversation with Aunt Gina.

  "But I don't get it," Cassie said. "What do you mean she 'sort of' promised?"

  I sighed. "She promised to do better next year."

  "But that's good, right?"

  "Knowing my aunt? I'm not so sure." I tried to laugh. "Do you know, when I was younger, she'd always get me a clown for my birthday?"

  Cassie paused for a long, silent moment. "You're kidding."

  "I wish," I said. "And just so you know, I don't mean a clown doll. Or a clown cake. I mean a real, live clown."

  "Like a professional?"

  "Sometimes," I said. "But other times, she'd have one of her friends dress up and surprise me. It was really crazy, too, because–" I paused as I spotted a car turning onto my driveway.

  "Because what?" Cassie said.

  It was an unfamiliar black sports car, and I got to my feet. My aunt had left only minutes earlier, and I wasn't expecting company. Into the phone, I said, "Sorry, someone's here."

  "Who?" Cassie asked.

  I was still watching the car. It looked sleek and expensive, with wide rear tires and dark tinted windows. "I don't know," I said.

  "Do you need to go?"

  "Actually, I'm not sure." I watched as the car pulled closer and came to a stop in the turnaround. The driver's side door opened, and a familiar figure stepped out.

  I felt myself smile.

  It was Joel.

  Getting out of the car, he looked like every girl's dream – lean and muscular, with a face that made it impossible to look away.

  I gave him a wave and said into the phone, "Actually, I probably should go. Can I call you back later?"

  "Oh, my God," she said. "It's him, isn't it?"

  Already, Joel was moving toward me, striding forward like a man on a mission. I gave the phone a distracted squeeze. "Uh-huh."

  Cassie laughed. "You know, I can totally hear you drooling."

  I snapped back to reality. In a low whisper, I said, "Oh, shut up. I am not."

  "Hey, I don't blame you," she said. "If I were you, I'd be drooling, too."

  Ignoring her comment, I gave her a quick goodbye and disconnected the call. And then, I looked to Joel. He was dressed nearly the same as Friday night, in tattered jeans and a thin T-shirt. As he moved, his shirt clung to him, giving me a tantalizing hint of his tight abs underneath.


  Who knows, maybe I was drooling.

  Smiling, I stepped forward to greet him. "Hi."

  He didn't smile back. "Hi."

  I felt my own smile fade. "Is something wrong?"

  His mouth tightened. "Yeah. I don't know how to tell you this…"

  My stomach clenched. "What?"

  "Your car," he said. "It's gone."

  A wave of guilt washed over me. "Oh, no. Didn't they tell you?"

  "Tell me what?"

  "Derek had it towed."

  Joel frowned. "To where?"

  "Supposedly, to a repair shop."

  He gave me a questioning look. "Supposedly?"

  "Yeah. I mean, probably." I paused. "But it's not like I know which shop or anything."

  "Why not?"

  "Because all I had was a message from Derek on my voicemail." I tried to laugh. "Get this. He had it towed Friday night, right after leaving T.J.'s."

  In front of me, Joel wasn't laughing. "The guy didn't waste any time, did he?"

  "Apparently not." I sighed. "But mostly, I feel sorry for the tow-truck driver. Knowing Derek, he probably dragged some poor guy out of bed." I paused as something occurred to me. "But wait. That was two nights ago. You just noticed?"

  "Yeah, because I just got back."

  "From where?"

  "Detroit." He smiled. "I told you Friday, remember?"

  Did he? Probably. My brain had been a little fuzzy.

  I considered the timetable. The way it sounded, he hadn't even returned to his campsite after driving me home in the Porsche.

  I glanced at the car he was driving today. "Let me guess. You returned the Camaro?"

  "Sorry, you'd be guessing wrong."

  "But you're driving a different car." I pointed to the car in the turnaround. "So whose car is that?"

  "Mine."

  "Really?" I gave it a closer look. It wasn't just expensive. It was exotic. I didn't know what to make of it. I looked back to Joel. "It's a lot different from the Camaro."

  "Yeah," Joel said. "It's got plates."

  License plates? Was that a joke? If so, I was too distracted to appreciate it. "But about the Camaro," I said. "Why didn't you return it? I mean, if you have a car of your own–"

  "That's not why I took it."

  I felt my brow wrinkle. "So why did you?"

  Joel's gaze darkened. "Payback."

  "Oh." The Camaro had been a total heap. Obviously, his brother didn't have a lot of money. It seemed almost cruel to take his car, regardless of the circumstances. Unless I was missing something?

  "Payback?" I said. "So like your brother owed you money?"

  "No. But he owed me something."

  I bit my lip. "But isn't your brother missing it?"

  "The Camaro?" Joel gave a low laugh. "Oh yeah. He's missing it."

  I didn't get the joke. "What's so funny?"

  "If you knew my brother, you wouldn’t ask."

  "But I don't know him," I said. "Does he know you have it?"

  "Oh yeah. He called."

  "When?" I asked.

  Joel gave it some thought. "A few weeks ago."

  My jaw dropped. "You stole it – I mean, borrowed it, or whatever – a few weeks ago? Doesn't he need it back?"

  "No." Joel smiled. "But he wants it."

  I stiffened. "I'm sure he does. Are you ever planning to return it?"

  Joel considered the question. "I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not."

  I almost didn't know what to say. It was like Joel had two personalities. One was a total sweetheart, and the other was a cold-hearted bastard.

  At something in my expression, he said, "Trust me. He can do without it."

  I looked at the car Joel was driving today. It was beyond nice. I considered the car he'd swiped from his brother. It was a hunk of junk – something you'd only drive if you were destitute.

  I crossed my arms. "If you say so."

  His jaw tightened. "So, you're taking his side?"

  Was I? Probably. I couldn’t help it. I felt bad for him. It was true that I lived in a mansion, but I knew what it was like to worry about money – and now, cars too.

  The thing with the Camaro was hitting too close to home. Aside from towing my mom's car on Friday night, Derek had sent someone over on Saturday to pick up the Porsche.

  Supposedly, both cars were being looked at. In reality, I wasn't so sure. Either way, I'd be riding my bicycle to work.

  Was Joel's brother doing the same thing? Or was he walking to work? Did he even have a job? Maybe he couldn’t get a job with no vehicle.

  How awful was that?

  In front of me, Joel was waiting for my answer. Was I taking his brother's side?

  I couldn’t help it. When it came to this, I guess I was. But I hated the thought of saying so. I tried to smile. "Well, as you said, I don't even know him."

  Joel was frowning now. "Yeah. And you're not gonna."

  I drew back. "What does that mean?"

  "Nothing. Forget it."

  "No." My eyes narrowed. "I'd really like to know."

  "Yeah?" Joel said. "Wanna know what I'd like?"

  "What?"

  "To talk about something else."

  I didn't want to talk about something else. I wanted to know what he meant. Was he sending me some sort of message, like, "I hope you don't expect to meet my family."

  Talk about arrogant.

  It was time to end this conversation before I said something regrettable. "Alright." I gave him a stiff smile. "Thanks for stopping by."

  He looked at me for a long, silent moment before saying, "If you want me to go, just say so."

  At this point, I wasn't sure what I wanted. So I said nothing, wondering if he'd tell me what I was missing.

  But he didn't.

  Instead, he turned away and began stalking toward his car. As I watched, he opened the driver's side door, got in, and fired up the engine. Almost before I knew it, he was pulling away.

  And then, he was gone.

  Staring at the empty driveway, I had to ask myself, "What just happened?"

  The sad truth was, I had no idea.

  Chapter 27

  April said, "Hey, you're still listening, right?"

  I gave a little shake of my head. "Uh, yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?"

  It was still Sunday, an hour before sunset, and I'd called April to thank her for being such a great sport about that whole stripper thing.

  My intentions were good, but my performance was pathetic. We'd been talking for less than ten minutes, and already, I was beyond distracted.

  Ever since Joel's abrupt departure a couple of hours earlier, I'd been waffling between anger and guilt, hatred and longing, and satisfaction and regret.

  It didn't help that April had spent the last ten minutes telling me how totally hot and amazing Joel was. I couldn't disagree with the first part. Hot? Definitely. But amazing? Well, the jury was still out on that.

  As she rambled on, I didn't have the heart to tell her that I probably wouldn't be seeing him again.

  Hoping to change the subject, I said, "Hey, I meant to ask you something. You called the cowboy hilarious. What'd you mean by that?"

  "Oh, that," she said. "Well, you probably saw, he didn't take off a single thing, not even his hat."

  "Yeah," I said. "And do you know why?"

  "Why?"

  "Because my aunt told him not to."

  "Oh man, what a bummer. But I guess that explains it."

  "Explains what?"

  "Well, the whole time he's dancing and stuff, he's describing what he would be taking off, if only we were alone in some cow patch or something."

  In spite of everything, I had to laugh. "What's a cow patch?"

  "Heck if I know," she said. "And you wanna hear something funny? I don't think he knew either. But anyway, he's going into all this detail, even as does his thing."

  I recalled the spectacle from Friday night. From the little I'd seen, his "thing" involved a whole lot of stradd
ling and thrusting.

  April continued, "And he's all like…" She mimicked a masculine drawl. "'Then, I'd take off my pants, and you, my little filly, would wanna ride me around, rodeo-style.'"

  I burst out laughing. "That makes no sense."

  "I know," she said. "But it was awesome." Her tone grew more serious. "You're not sorry you missed it, are you?"

  Now, it was my turn to imitate the cowboy. "No ma'am."

  April laughed. "You know what? I think your cowboy voice was better than his."

  I couldn’t resist. "Thanks partner."

  Suddenly, she burst out, "Oh my God! I almost forgot to tell you. You know my favorite zombie movie, right?"

  "How could I forget?" I smiled at the memory. "You dragged me to see that thing like five times."

  The movie's name was Flashbang, and zombies were just a small part of the plot. It was a huge cult favorite from a few years back, some low-budget indie flick that somehow managed to gross a fortune.

  On the phone, April was saying, "I know, it was awesome, right?"

  It was awesome – not the movie, but the fact that April loved it so much. As for me, I was more of a vampire girl. Still, I said, "Yeah, it was pretty awesome."

  "So get this." She squealed, "I saw the car!"

  Ouch. I held the phone away from my ear. "What car?"

  "The one from the movie! You remember, right?"

  I tried to think. From what I recalled, the hero had driven this beat-up Camaro across the Mohave Desert, all the while being pursued by gangs of zombies, mutants and pissed-off bikers. "Yeah, it was–"

  I froze. A Camaro. The Camaro? No, it couldn’t be.

  April said, "Sorry, what was that? You cut out for a minute."

  My mind was whirling. Still, I managed to say, "It was a Camaro, right?"

  "Yeah, totally. See, I knew you'd remember."

  "And you saw it?" I said. "Where?"

  "A few miles from your house. Crazy, huh?"

  I was so distracted, I could hardly think. "Uh. Yeah. Crazy."

  "I know," April said. "I mean, who expects to see something like that around here. So, are you surprised or what?"

  Oh, I was surprised, alright.

  And yet, it couldn’t be the same car. I surely would've noticed, right?

  Or maybe not.

  When Joel had picked me up, it had been dark, and I'd been distracted. Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed.