by Katie Cross
“Glad you liked it,” I said, putting them beneath one arm, against my hip. His gaze went there, then skated away.
“We loved it.”
The we was a win. At least he acknowledged that he didn't live alone, whoever the small child with him was. So far, my subtle inquiries around town pointed to a daughter named Ava, but that was all anyone knew about her. Not even Bert, who owned the Diner and worked out at the MMA Center daily now, had seen much of her.
Maverick glanced between us, brow high, but said nothing.
“What can I get you?” I asked.
Mav ordered a fresh cup of coffee, Benjamin stuck with water—no one was surprised with a body like that—and both settled for sandwich and salad specials. I darted away before my urge to linger and learn more about their lives and secret hopes overcame my common sense.
A new lunch rush started to move through, and I lost myself in the usual rhythm and movements of waitressing. Every now and then I felt eyes on me, but ignored them. Men’s eyes followed me all the time.
It's your hips, my girl, Mom would say. Be proud of those.
She'd certainly given me enough to be proud of. I wasn't brave enough to figure out if it was Benjamin looking or not, so I pretended to ignore it. Pretended my heart didn't flutter in my chest every time.
“Oh. Em. G-gee.” Dagny sighed when I stepped through the swinging door to grab a basket of biscuits. “H-h-he has been staring at y-you this whole time!”
“He's in love with my cooking,” I said, but felt a secret thrill. “The man is so broken he probably can't even make mac and cheese.”
“I'd fix him,” she whispered, breathless. Then she sighed. “No, I wouldn't. I w-w-wouldn't even be able to speak to him. He's t-terrifying.”
“He's a teddy bear.”
She shook her head, utterly unconvinced.
When I slipped back out, delivered the biscuits, and made my way back to the Mercedy table, Maverick and Benjamin stood up. Empty plates and salad bowls littered their table. Maverick tossed some money on the table, but Benjamin dropped more.
“Hey.” I smiled at both but spoke to Maverick. “We still haven't finalized where we're putting my name on your arm.”
He laughed, glancing at his left arm, where a sleeve of tattoos colored the skin. All of them were some version of a niece or nephew name with varying colors and designs, supposedly to reflect the child.
“That's right,” he drawled. “Serafina is such a short, easy name to manage. And your subdued personality will make it even easier.”
“You're right! We'll scrawl it across your chest.”
“Bethany won't mind,” he said.
“Not at all! Another woman's name over your heart? Sounds entirely innocent.” I turned to Benjamin with a warm smile. “Glad you enjoyed the spaghetti. I bake a pretty mean ziti casserole. It's all up in the cheese, I'm just saying. I mean, if you have something against cheese then you can get over it for one night. It's cheese.”
A desperate look came to his eyes. “Sounds great,” he said. “Tomorrow?”
The moment the request slipped out, I could tell he regretted it. But he didn't take it back because that would have been even more awkward, so I rolled with it.
“Tomorrow sounds great. Brownies this time?” I asked.
He nodded, relief clear on his expression. “Brownies are an excellent choice for a very picky eater that also ate every single cookie, as well as two helpings of spaghetti, and then again for breakfast.”
A thrill warmed me all the way to the bones. Why did I suspect that said picky eater rarely had a home-cooked meal? Or that his relief had something to do with a happy, well-fed child? Hungry children were cranky buggers.
Although I was a bit disappointed that he wasn't asking for it just to see me, I could appreciate a father's desperation.
Feed 'em, Mom always said. That'll bring them in just like the cows.
“I'll drop it off tomorrow.” I tilted my head to the side, one eye narrowed. “Maybe a little earlier, though. 9:30 is kind of late for little tummies. I'll text you.”
Maverick's puzzled expression cleared when I thanked them and they walked out without another word. Once they left, I let out a long breath, grateful the pressure in the air had gone with them. Benjamin carried weight with him everywhere he went.
“B-boy,” Dagny whistled as she walked behind me. “That man is intense.”
“Tell me about it,” I muttered as I grabbed their plates, plucked the cash off the table—they'd left me a $30 tip—and swept into the back, my mind whirling.
“Where have you been?”
The next afternoon, several bags spilled out of my arms and onto Talmage’s rickey table. The house I had cleaned so meticulously had fallen into ragged tatters. He paced back and forth across worn carpet, hair standing on end. The exhilaration of going shopping up the canyon to the local “big city” with Dagny faded. I mean, I'd even found a black dress with pockets.
Best day ever.
But all that faded with Talmage's obvious irritation.
“What's up?” I asked, monitoring my tone. Just to give me something to do, and in case I needed something between us, I slipped behind the counter in the kitchen. The charged air was a warning. I should get out of here.
But first, I had to just grab the dinner I'd made for Benjamin and his daughter.
“I'm in pain!” he cried, hitting a book off a shelf. He winced when it slammed into the wall. His breathing was fast. I grabbed my phone and slipped it into my back pocket.
Talmage was two years older than me. We were born close enough that we'd hated and loved each other deeply while growing up. Despite being from the same family, he towered over my five-and-a-half foot tall frame at a stocky six feet. His once thick shoulders had made him even more frightening, but he'd lessened in muscle since the injury at work that had put him into multiple surgeries. That didn't lessen his sheer brawn. Like Daddy, he was a big guy. He was twenty-seven, and I was twenty-five, but he looked more like fifty these days.
“Tal,” I said and propped a hip against the counter. “I'm sorry. Let's get this figured out, all right?”
“Get my meds.”
“I just refilled them a few days ago. Did you lose them?”
“No.” His nostrils flared. “They're gone.”
“Gone?”
“Gone!” he shouted. “Gone. They're gone, gone, gone. I'm a big guy. They're not prescribing me enough.”
My mind spun, startled at this new argument. I found my keys in my pocket and threaded them through my fingers, just in case, the way Ben had taught me. Did I want to use any moves on Talmage? Of course not. He was my brother. He loved me. I loved him—had once adored him like a hero. He'd always protected me from the mean kids at school, had kept me safe when our parents were gone on a date and I was scared in the house alone.
But right now I could also recognize the monster that had given me the fat lip last week. The same one that had no similarities to the brother I once knew. The brother I came to live with two months ago to help through what should have been his final surgery.
Calm Talmage was nothing like this guy. Dr. Jekyl had returned.
I swallowed a flurry of panic. With every jerky movement he exhibited, I wanted to wince. He'd always had anxiety as a kid. Hated closed spaces, big crowds, or any type of peer pressure. The last few months with unemployment and continuous surgeries had only worsened it.
Today, however, something else had him on edge.
“Have you called your doctor?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“That I can't have anymore,” he spat. “What do you think? You think they hand that stuff out? I'm freaking useless. Can't work. Can't pay my bills. Can't . . . can't deal with this pain. I just . . . I just need a few more to get me through today.”
He didn't stop moving, but rubbed a hand across his chest now. Sweat beaded on his brow. My gaze dropped to a pile o
f papers on the counter. One of them was a torn envelope. The red lines of an overdue hospital bill decorated one of the papers that spilled out. My throat tightened.
“Let's get you some ibuprofen.”
He scoffed, wiping at his forehead. “Waste of time. You know it doesn't do anything.”
His last surgery had been six weeks ago. He should have been weaned off the meds in the weeks after. The first surgery had been much easier. The second had been the worst, with the longest recovery time and the hardest pain management. After that came a fast third, now fourth surgery.
And Talmage was a totally different person.
“Tal, maybe we should call and get some other help. Maybe this is something else?” I said the words gently, but he turned on me anyway. His eyes were unfocused as he barreled toward me.
“You don't know what this feels like!”
I ducked the first clumsy blow, an open slap likely meant to punt me out of his way, but the swinging fist that followed caught me right in the ribs and robbed my breath. I dropped to my knees with a gasp.
Benjamin hadn't covered this. Or had he? My mind suddenly fractured, and all I could think about was air.
He stomped a foot onto my side and shoved me to the ground. Pain wired through my body, hot and fast as lightning. I struggled to regain breath, too weak to shove him off when he pressed a foot into my chest. An audible crack sounded seconds before pain shot through my body again. My breath rushed back all at once, exacerbating the heat. I slammed a fist into his calf to get him to move, but his leg was too heavy. He leaned too much weight into it.
He didn't even notice.
“You know nothing,” he growled.
Seconds later, I was pinned against the fridge by my throat while he screamed. Emotion built in his eyes. Were those tears? No. Rage? He screamed incomprehensibly. Whatever came over him was dark. Foreign. Something else. The anxiety. The meds. A combination of all of them.
Or something worse.
He released me and I scrambled away with a desperate gasp, but he grabbed me by the hair and hauled me back. A backhand across the face sent stars across my vision. Somewhere in the blur of pain and disbelief came another voice.
“Talmage!”
Had I imagined it? Was Amber here?
Whoever it was, the voice distracted him. He paused, hand poised to strike again, when a semblance of humanity came back to him. When he glanced over his shoulder toward the front door, his grip on me loosened. I grabbed my only chance.
With a cry, I drove my fist into his knee. The unexpected blow took him by surprise and he dropped with a grunt. Then I hammer-punched his injured shoulder with the keys in my hand so I could clamber over him. He squealed like a pig, and it gave me the space to get out of his reach. Amber let out a cry and dropped to her knees.
“That's his injured shoulder!” she cried.
Panting, I backed away. My back slammed into the door as I fumbled for my phone. My head swam, dizzy now.
“Talmage!” Amber’s too-thin body was visible beneath a dirty tank top as she put her hands on his bright red face. “I'm here. I'm here.”
“Sera!” he gasped, the word lined with terrifying rage.
My side on fire, I bolted outside. No one followed me as I slipped out of sight into a grove of trees, grabbed my phone, and called 911.
“911,” answered a voice. “What's your emergency?”
“My brother is going to kill me,” I panted. “Please send someone now.”
“You going to be all right here?”
Jayson Hernandez, a county deputy, stood in the doorway to the small hotel room I'd managed to rent. His shoulders shadowed the room as he stepped inside, then frowned. He had thick forearms and a quick smile. With his short black hair and warm hazel eyes, he was a charmer. He'd come into the Diner several times after his shifts, and always tipped well. To have him witness all of this was . . . embarrassing, at best. But his serious mein and professional manner kept me from wanting to fold in on myself as I scanned the hotel room.
The bar that housed these hotel rooms lay in the heart of Pineville, just next to the pizza place, and a short walk from work. If I moved to the front of the building, the Diner would be visible just down the road, by the MMA Center.
More importantly, it was smack dab in the middle of everything. People added security. Talmage wouldn't come here.
Which was a good thing.
My hastily packed bags lay on the hotel bed, which had a headboard made of thick wooden logs and a lamp with an adorable bear peering around the back. It seemed impossible that only a few hours had passed. That the world still moved on. That no one else had noticed my entire life shifting a bit more to the wrong angle.
“Sera?”
Jayson's quiet question pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. I nodded, my voice scratchy when I turned to face him.
“Yeah,” I said. “I'll be good here. Thanks for the ride and for all the help.”
“I'll talk to the owner,” he said. “Make sure you're good, just in case. If you need anything, just give me a call.”
He pushed my bike the rest of the way into the room.
“Thanks, Jayson.”
“My pleasure,” he said. His brow furrowed over his blue eyes. “He's in custody for the night, but call if you have any problems after that. Anytime, Sera. You’re sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”
A small smile seemed to reassure him. “I’m fine. The paramedics looked me over. Really.”
With a quick nod, he was gone. I wondered what he thought of me. Did he judge me as dramatic and wild because of my brother? Did he know that my upbringing was as middle class and stable as anyone's had a right to be? That the only drugs we'd ever known as children were kid’s Tylenol? Our parents hadn't raised us to this. We were functional, emotionally healthy people from a normal family.
But my brother was still a monstrous mess anyway.
Tears bubbled up behind my eyes, but I sniffed them back. My side ached with every breath, sending spirals of lacy pain through my back and ribs. If I didn't breathe deep, and no one jostled me, I'd manage. Didn't need an x-ray to know my rib was broken. The skin over my left cheekbone was swollen and tender. With any luck, it wouldn't bruise too badly. Even my hair hurt. My neck a little, too.
Grief, but I looked like a Loveline movie actress.
My mind skipped over the whole event again, the thoughts unstable and unsettled. I'd have to call Mom and Dad soon. Have to tell them what happened and explain it and let them know that I still didn't know if I'd press charges or not. Didn't know what Talmage would be like after this settled.
Would Mr. Hyde ever return?
Probably.
The four walls seemed especially close all of a sudden. I couldn't just sit here and think and stew and feel and cry when my rib hurt so much. Even crying was too painful. Instead, I shoved my phone back into my pocket, carefully pulled on a jacket, and shoved the rest of the cash that I'd earned from tips today into my other pocket.
I still owed Benjamin dinner. If nothing else happened today, Ava would get a delicious meal.
I could do that much.
The sound of sniffling met my ears when I stepped into the MMA Center an hour later. I shuffled inside, two grocery bags hanging off my right arm, and set them on the counter. Moving that way sent another shot of irritation through my side, but I breathed through the yelp it almost caused.
No one else filled the strangely empty interior, especially considering it was 7:00 at night. Darkness ebbed in from outside, filling the space with quiet.
The sniffles continued.
“Hello?” I called.
A little girl came into view as I walked farther into the room. She sat with her back against the main counter on the left, her knees tucked into her chest. She wore a pair of jeans and a dirty baseball t-shirt. Her hair had come out of a braid in awkward lumps. Definitely the work of a desperate father. This had to be Ava.
Slowl
y, I approached.
“Hey. You okay?”
She peered up at me through reddened eyes. Adorable pink flip-flops clung to her feet. She stared morosely at me. Slowly, with poor attempts to hide my wince, I lowered onto the floor next to her.
“Hard day?” I asked.
She nodded with cherub cheeks. Probably six years old, if I could guess through the tear tracks on her face. She had adorable dark hair in curls, not unlike my own thanks to the braid. Her eyes were a gentle olive color, unlike Benjamin’s, which were a honey color. I tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, grateful to find someone whose day had been as crappy as mine. The gentle touch didn't seem to bother her.
“Want to talk about it?”
She shook her head, but a new round of tears started again. Wordless, I held out both arms. She climbed inside with another deep wail, threw her arms around my shoulders, and laid her cheek on my shoulder. I held my breath, my eyes scrunched shut, until the rocketing pain around my ribs calmed down several moments later. Then I managed to reach a hand up and rub her back.
“Let it out, honey,” I murmured, the way Mom did for me. Secretly, I hoped I'd get some sort of relief from my own pain by watching her let go of hers. “Just let it go.”
Her soft cries continued into my shoulder. Eventually, her tears seeped through the fabric of my shirt and tugged at my heart. What would Ben say if he found us like this? Where was he anyway? Why was she alone here? No girl should be alone with heartbreak like this.
But was I thinking about her or myself?
Several minutes later, she pulled away. Her hands remained on my shoulder as she peered at me. Then she reached up and a gentle finger touched my throbbing cheekbone. Likely, the bruise was even darker now.
“You have an ouchie.”
“I do.”
Her head tilted slightly. “Do you have bullies too?”
“I do.”
“But you're an adult.”
“I know.” My nose scrunched. “There are adult bullies too. Isn't that the worst? It's hard enough being a kid, isn't it?”
