Bad Boy Brother

by Chance Carter

  “See what I mean?” he said. “Women come on to you, even when you’re a complete asshole.”

  He was wiping down the bar, getting ready to finish up for the night. He took my empty and looked me in the eye.

  “I caught that girl checking me out when she got here, but as soon as she laid eyes on you, it was like I didn’t exist anymore.”

  “Whatever dude, she’s all yours. I’m not interested.”

  “I know you’re not interested. That’s the freaking problem. You’re not interested in any women since you lost Carolyn. Well anyone but Steph, but we all know you’re not really interested in her. You just string that poor girl along so that she’ll be there when you’re feeling horny.”

  “Leave Steph out of this. She knows what it is between us and she’s fine with it.”

  Paul was always sticking up for Steph. Probably because he dated her years ago.

  I stood up from my seat.

  “I’m going to the bathroom. Get me another beer for when I get back … and a shot of whisky.”

  I didn’t look back to see if he heard me. I knew he did and I didn’t want to give him the chance to say no.

  The men’s room was on the other side of the bar. As I passed the chick from out of town, I stole a glance in her direction. She didn’t notice me, she was basically face down in apple crumble, but I sure as hell noticed her. Her shirt was slightly lifted, exposing a small peak of the smooth, creamy white skin of her lower back. I felt an instant rush of blood to my dick. My cock stiffened and a throb of desire pulsed through it.

  Suddenly I was very interested.

  My eyes ran over every inch of her delicious body. I couldn’t resist. I gazed down along her curves and landed on her perfectly round ass.

  Fuck.

  My dick jumped from a semi to a full blown hard-on.

  I slowed as I passed, picturing myself grabbing her from behind, forcing her against the bar, bending her over, and sliding my rock hard cock deep inside her.

  I wanted to show her what she did to me. I wanted her to feel it.

  I wanted to hold her down by the back of her neck, even if she struggled, and slide my cock between the cheeks of her ass, making sure she could tell just how big and hard I was for her.

  I gave my head a shake, clearing my sex crazed mind. My lust caught me off guard. It had been a long time since I’d felt completely entranced by a woman like that.

  I realized I was standing in the middle of the brewery with a raging boner pressing against my jeans, so I quickly made my way to the men’s room before anyone noticed.

  Thankfully, it was a single use washroom. I locked the door behind me to give myself a few minutes to cool off. I splashed cold water on my face and looked in the mirror.

  The man staring back at me was a mess. I was clearly drunk, hammered even. There was a time when I would have shook my head in disgust at a guy like this.

  But one thing I knew for sure. The fantasy I’d just had about the woman at the bar wasn’t from the booze. I drank every night and never felt this way. I pulled my cock out of my pants and it was still rock hard.

  I was attracted to that woman in a way I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Despite my resistance, despite every part of my mind fighting it, my cock wanted to be deep inside of her.

  I splashed more cold water on my face.

  Fuck this.

  The last thing I needed was to get messed up with a broad. No good could come of it. Plus, I knew Steph was just waiting for me to give her the word. I leaned against the wall to text her, my hard cock still sticking out of my pants like a weapon.

  Me: I’ve got one more drink coming. Meet me at my place in thirty minutes. Wear that backless top you have.

  Steph: K :)

  Now that I knew Steph was waiting, it would make me quickly finish my beer and avoid getting mixed up in any trouble I didn’t want. And by trouble, I meant that woman.

  I finished up in the washroom, gave my face one more splash, and looked in the mirror. I hated what I saw. I hated the man I’d become. A mean, useless drunk.

  Fuck, that girl at the bar at least had a right to know just what an asshole she’d been flirting with all night. She deserved better than a prick like me and I knew it.

  I left the washroom and stepped around the corner. The first thing I saw was that perfect, round ass. I felt myself instantly get hard again and knew I had to shut it down. I walked over to a table and grabbed one of the heavy chairs, dragging it over to where she was sitting at the bar.

  “Look lady, if you’re going to eat that much, the least you could do is make sure you’re sitting on a load bearing chair.”

  I slammed the chair down next to her bar stool and then stumbled backwards, the alcohol finally getting the best of me. I crashed into the table behind me where four dudes were sitting. Beer mugs fell everywhere, smashing glass across the room.

  The whole bar went silent, in a state of shock. Everyone was looking at me. They’d all heard what I said to the girl. Now they knew it if they didn’t already.

  I was an asshole who didn’t deserve to live.

  I could feel the tension grow as everyone waited to see how she’d react.

  The look on Paul’s face filled me with shame. He’d been a friend to me for a long time, but surely this was the last straw. Who could be friends with a man who’d insulted an innocent girl at a bar like this?

  And the girl, when I saw her face, I felt like throwing up. When had I become this way? Where had I learned to be so cruel?

  I knew the answer.

  I wanted a fight. I wanted this girl to throw her glass at me. I could tell she was a feisty one. Maybe she’d finally be the one to teach me a lesson. Smash a glass in my face and put me in hospital. That’s what I deserved.

  She stood up, and for a second I thought she was going to let me have but. But then, instead of doing anything, instead of screaming or yelling or clawing at me with her nails, she just burst into tears.

  I did not see that coming.

  I felt like dying.

  She tried to speak but was crying so hard she couldn’t get the words out. Fuck. I’d wanted a fight, not this. Of all possible outcomes, this one never crossed my drunken mind.

  Then, finally, she managed to string together a sentence.

  She spoke softly, looking right into my dead eyes.

  “You’re an asshole.”

  I didn’t know what to say back. She was right.

  From across the bar, Paul was walking toward me. The guys whose table I’d knocked over were gathering around me too. This was it, the fight I’d wanted.

  I swung at one of the guys but he dodged my fist easily. Another guy grabbed me from behind and held me. The first one landed a fist on my face and then another guy followed it up with a powerful punch to my gut. I felt dizzy, struggling against the grip of the guy holding me. I swung my arms uselessly, trying to grab the guy’s head as his friends proceeded to punch the shit out of me, pounding my stomach, chest and face with punch after punch.

  I tasted blood in my mouth and relished it.

  “That’s enough,” Paul yelled, grabbing the guys and holding them back.

  The guy who’d been holding me let me go and I slumped to the ground. From my knees I looked around at the bar, shame and disgust filling every ounce of my being.

  This was what I’d become. A drunken, asshole brawler without a friend in the world.

  “Paul,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Shut up, Kane. Get the fuck out of here.”

  “Paul,” I stammered again like the idiot I was.

  “You’ve finally overstayed your welcome, asshole.”

  The girl I’d insulted, the poor girl who’d just picked the wrong night to walk into this bar, was looking at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. I wanted to say something to her. I wanted to explain why I was such an undeniable bastard, but I couldn’t talk. There was too much blood in my mouth.

  She grabbed her pu
rse and left a hundred dollar bill on the bar.

  Paul apologized to her for what happened and said her meal was on the house but she refused to take it.

  I tried to stand up but lost my balance again and knocked over another chair.

  “You,” she said, turning to me, “you think you’re such hot shit, well you’re not. You’re just a sad, lonely, mean drunk. I don’t know what happened to you, but it’s made you miserable and you take it out on people you don’t even know.”

  I watched her walk toward the exit.

  She zipped up her purse and stormed away towards the exit.

  “Well fuck you, fatty,” I yelled after her.

  That time it was Paul himself who landed the punch. Everything went blank for a second and then I was lying on the floor on my back, staring up at the ceiling. I tried to get up but one of the guys standing next to me put his foot on my chest.

  “Stay down, asshole.”

  I didn’t care. I didn’t care if they kicked the shit out of me and left me for dead. I wanted to be dead. I turned my head to the side and saw that the girl was coming back from the door. I thought she was going to yell at me some more. Everything she said about me was true, that’s why it cut so deep. As she approached I braced myself for whatever she’d say next but she stepped right over me.

  She walked to the bar with grim determination on her face, grabbed the plate of untouched cheesecake, turned and made her way back toward the exit.

  All at once, everyone in the bar cheered for her. They saw what I’d seen. This girl had guts. She wasn’t about to take anyone’s crap. I’d been right after all.

  After the cheering died down, everyone began to leave. The guys who’d beaten me up left. Before long it was just me and Paul. I got up and slumped into a chair. Paul wiped down the bar and when he was done he called over to me. I knew what he was going to say but the fact he didn’t look at me as he said it, didn’t make eye contact, hurt worse than the words.

  “That’s it. You’re done, Kane. You don’t come into my bar and speak to a woman that way.”

  “Well, fuck this place,” I said, reaching into my pocket for my wallet. I pulled out enough cash to cover my tab and threw it at him. The bills landed on the floor in front of me and I shrugged. It wasn’t my problem.

  I got up from the chair and began staggering toward the exit. There was blood all over my shirt and I knew my face would be a mess in the morning. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything.

  As I reached the door, I heard Paul shout. He was picking up the money I’d thrown on the floor.

  “Hey, Kane.”

  I held up my hand and gave him the finger without looking back.

  “Kane, your picture of Carolyn is here on the ground.”

  I stopped. I must have flung it when I’d thrown the money at him. I staggered back and grabbed it from him without saying a word, clenching it in my fist.

  CHAPTER 9

  KANE

  I woke up next morning with a pain in my head like a jackhammer pounding through concrete.

  I turned over, looking for Steph, then remembered she never showed up last night. Paul must have told her what I’d done. What an asshole I’d been. I’d be lucky if anyone wanted to talk to me for a while.

  To be honest, I was glad Steph wasn’t there. Sure, I fucked her from time to time, but I never felt good afterwards. I never liked waking up next to her. I always hated myself. Being with anyone but Carolyn still hurt like crazy and made me feel like a piece of shit. Using Steph didn’t make me feel good either.

  I looked at the clock next to my bed. Six a.m. on the dot. I was so set in my routine I didn’t need to set an alarm anymore. I woke at the crack of dawn each morning and caught the early morning surf.

  It took a long time to get like this though. For months, getting out of bed was a struggle. Getting back into the ocean took even longer.

  The accident shook me to my core. Robbed me of everything and everyone I’d ever loved. If I’d had the courage to kill myself, I would have. I honestly don’t know what kept me from doing it. Other than surfing that is.

  I went to the back deck to get a wetsuit off the clothesline. It was another perfect, cloudless day and it was already warming up. I came back in the house and noticed the crumpled up picture of Carolyn next to my keys and wallet on the kitchen table. Proof that the shit show last night hadn’t just been a bad dream.

  I flattened the picture and put it up on my fridge next to the other pictures of Carolyn and her daughter, Tamara. I paused to look at them but quickly walked away to get changed before I got sucked into another pit of depression.

  I loved getting on the water early in the morning because not many people were out yet and it was peaceful. The best spot to surf wasn’t far down the highway. It was a gorgeous spot and always had perfect waves. I grabbed my things, got in my Jeep, and headed there.

  The parking lot on top of the cliff was empty when I pulled up. A steep, winding trail led down from the cliffs to the beach but before heading down, I went to my lookout point. I always went there before my surf. It’s a patch of grass covered with wildflowers on an outcrop of rock hidden by trees. I go there and look out at the ocean, the morning mist rising off the water, and try to find some sort of peace inside.

  Memories of Carolyn and Tamara playing and laughing in the wildflowers flashed through my mind. The girls loved it there. It was our weekly tradition to pack a picnic and come here to eat dinner and watch the sunset. Carolyn was an amazing cook and an even better mother. Sometimes, she’d make crowns for her and Tamara out of the wild flowers. Tamara fell over laughing when Carolyn made one for me too.

  I never knew Tamara’s father. Carolyn was single when I met her. I’d heard about him though.

  I heard about the time he threw Tamara’s puppy off a two hundred foot high bridge just to see what would happen when he hit the water. I heard about the time he held Carolyn’s head under the water in the bathtub until she almost passed out. I saw with my own eyes the bruises, scars, and cigarette burns on both Carolyn and Tamara.

  Tamara was four years old when Carolyn finally decided she couldn’t take the abuse any longer. She was terrified to leave, but she was more terrified of the kind of life her daughter would have if she stayed.

  One night when her ex was passed out drunk on the couch, she packed up the car and left with Tamara in the middle of the night. She drove for hours and didn’t have any idea where she was running to. She had no one to turn to and no where to go. It was pure survival instinct that kept her going.

  She didn’t stop until she reached the ocean.

  That’s when I met her. I’d just finished my morning surf. I was soaking wet and carrying my board up the path to the parking lot. This is the exact spot I first laid eyes on her. She was glowing in the morning sun like an angel, her little daughter asleep in her arms. She smiled at me and in that moment I knew she was the woman I’d been looking for all my life.

  From then on, we were inseparable. I helped Carolyn get set up and start her new life here in Pismo Beach. She literally had nothing with her, no clothes, no furniture, and no money. I insisted they stay with me while they got settled. Days grew into weeks, and weeks grew into months and they never ended up finding their own place. I didn’t want them to. I loved having them in my home with me. I spent all my time with those two girls. When I was with them, I felt whole.

  It didn’t take Tamara long to warm up to me. I never thought I wanted kids until she came into my life. The way she looked at me, the way she laughed when I threw her in the air, or clung to me when I tried to send her to kindergarten, made me feel like she was my very own flesh and blood. And that’s how I loved her, like she was my own.

  One night, about a year after they moved in, I walked past Tamara’s room as Carolyn was tucking her in for the night. I heard Tamara say she wished I was her real dad, and Carolyn said she did too.

  That was the only time in my life I ever cried from happi
ness.

  The next morning I asked Tamara for permission to marry her mother. I was nervous, even though I knew she’d say yes. We planned my proposal together, taking extra care to make sure it would be as romantic as possible. Tamara insisted we make her breakfast in bed and hide the ring in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Of all the places to put an expensive engagement ring, that was about my last choice, but who was I to argue with the romantic imagination of the cutest girl in the world?

  I could tell Carolyn knew something was up when she caught me nervously watching her take a bite out of the sandwich. I was half nervous about asking her, and half nervous she’d choke on the damn thing. Although my nerves didn’t give it away as much as Tamara did when she leapt to her feet on our bed and asked if the ring was in her mouth yet.

  We all laughed and within seconds Carolyn’s laughter turned to tears of happiness when she opened the sandwich and found the ring.

  I took it from her and cleaned it off before putting it on her finger. I told them both how much I loved them, and how my life only became complete when I found them. I promised I would never do anything to hurt them. I swore I would always protect them and keep them safe. They’d been through enough pain and suffering, and I vowed to keep them from it always.

  Carolyn said yes, over and over, and then we kissed passionately. Tamara wrapped her little arms around both of us and giggled in happiness. They were my family, and everyday I thanked God for bringing them into my life.

  I felt my body tense and my fists clench as I stared out at the ocean. I took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. It was hard to think that terrible things could happen in a world as beautiful as the one before my eyes. I bent down and picked the two most beautiful wildflowers in the patch and headed back to my jeep to grab my board.

  The ocean water was always cooler in the morning, but that’s the way I liked it. The cold hit me in a cleansing, refreshing way. I held the flowers between my teeth, climbed on my board, and paddled out into the waves, following the path of light toward the rising sun. I sat up on my board, holding the wildflowers in my hand. Softly, I said the prayer that Carolyn, Tamara and I said together every single morning.