Storms Over Secrets

by J. A. Derouen

  Northern U, and a long list of other colleges, began contacting Lucas when he was a sophomore in high school. Early testing scores were through the roof, and that trend continued through high school. The only reason Lucas is not at MIT or some equally prestigious college is because he refused to leave me behind. He went as far as to refuse Northern U’s offer to pay his room and board, instead opting to commute each day and live at home. It’s only a thirty-minute drive, but it’s a million miles to me. We’ve had more arguments than I can count about what he’s giving up for me.

  I can still hear his response when I begged him to go and follow his dreams. Never, Celia. I’ll never leave without you. I promise you.

  I stand outside his closed door and lift my fist to knock. I hear faint mumbling filtering from the room, and I wonder if he’s on the phone. I tap and wait for his invitation to enter. I knock more loudly after a few moments, figuring he must not have heard me the first time since there’s no break in his conversation. His voice stops at my second attempt.

  “Come in,” he calls out, and I turn the knob to peek my head in.

  “Hey, I just wanted to tell you goodbye. Are you on the phone? I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  Lucas is sitting at his desk, facing the window, but his face is turned to me. He looks preoccupied, but his face lights up when he sees me. He pushes back in the chair and meets me in the doorway.

  “Of course not, Celia. You could never bother me. It’s nothing important.” He grabs my hands and raises them as he studies me. “God, how could I forget to tell you how beautiful you look? You always take my breath away.”

  His words run through me, warming me to the core. I step closer, into his welcoming embrace. I’m tiny in comparison to his six-foot frame, only reaching his chest. His arms are shelter … safety.

  “You’ll come back here after the party? Maybe sneak up into my room? You know, maybe we could…” His words trail off in a rare moment of shyness. I gasp when his lips brush against my neck, a slight tease of his tongue following behind.

  “I’ll sneak away as soon as I can,” I say on a sigh, barely loud enough for him to hear.

  “Promise you won’t leave me all alone?” His eyes dance with amusement, but I see a deeper insecurity I don’t quite understand.

  I look at him … in him … through him, and see the boy I dreamed of, the teenager I crushed on, the young man I’d give my life for.

  “I promise, Lucas. I’ll never leave you alone.” A small smile dances on my lips as my hand reaches around his waist and grabs at his very tight cheek. “And we can definitely…”

  “Use Somebody” by Kings of Leon

  Present Day

  I CLOSE MY eyes and inhale a gulp of fresh country air, tipping my head toward the sun. The only sound for miles is the lapping water—just the way I like it. Saturday mornings at the pond are a ritual for me. My family owns more than their fair share of land in and around Providence, but no spot is sweeter than this acreage. With a fully stocked bass pond and hundred year old live oak trees tailor-made for fishing and napping under, this is a country boy’s dream spot. It’s damn near orgasmic.

  I prop my feet on the edge of the boat and take a good look at my less-than-stellar cousin, Will. He’s a sophomore at Northern U, and he takes after his older and much wiser cousin in the partying department. I pretty much poured his drunk ass into the truck this morning. His baseball cap is pulled low, the brim hiding his inevitably closed eyes, and I swear to Christ I can smell the day-old whiskey seeping from his pores.

  “So tell me what’s been going on, my man. How’s living in the Alpha Omega house?” My voice is two octaves higher than necessary, but his wince spurs me on. If he’s stupid enough to come to my pond still drunk from the night before, I’m gonna fuck with him.

  “Could you just,” he whispers while squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Just tone it down about ten levels, man.”

  “Not gonna happen, dude. You know me better than that. How about a beer? A little hair of the dog?” I ask, lifting a beer from the ice chest as I grab my own. All I get in response is a glare. At least I think he’s glaring, but it’s hard to tell with the hat in the way. I shrug my shoulders and take a pull off my beer. His loss. “I need to know about this epic night of partying that has left you the shadow of a man I see before me. What the hell happened?”

  Will lifts his hat and grins lazily. “It was fucking epic. It started out with a beer pong tournament and ended at this chick’s apartment, passing a bong.”

  “Is that so? Hmmmm … who’s the chick? Anyone you need to tell me about?”

  Could I lecture him about the bong? Yeah, but I choose to keep my mouth shut. I’ve been there. Nothing ever came of it, and I realized early on it wasn’t my gig. I’m gonna let Will learn that lesson on his own, but I’m sure as hell going to keep a closer eye on him going forward. I want to make sure this is just a phase and nothing more.

  “Not my girl. My buddy, Carson, hooked up with her,” he says as he starts coming back to the land of living, bit by tiny bit. A smirk plays on his lips. “That’s done, though. He said she’s a gumbo pot.”

  “The fuck?” I’ve never heard a woman referred to as a gumbo pot, but I’m pretty sure it’s less-than-complimentary, if Will’s expression is any indication.

  “You know, Cain, a gumbo pot. Once you stick your dick in, you have to stir it around to hit the other side. A loose bitch.”

  Before he finishes his last sentence, I smash my empty can of beer on my leg and pelt him in the head with the hunk of aluminum. I tag him pretty good on his ear and his hand springs up to cover it.

  “What the hell, man?”

  “Don’t ever let me hear you talk about a woman that way again.” I curl my lip in disgust and clench my fists, restraining myself from knocking some sense into him. “You know better than that, Will. I’ve taught you better than that.”

  And I have. I may be a serial dater—hooking up and moving on without ever planting real roots—but I never disrespect women. I treat my women like queens, no matter how short their reign on the throne may be.

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Cain, I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t say it; Carter did. I know I shouldn’t have repeated it,” he explains, and I can tell he wishes he could take it back.

  “No, you shouldn’t have. Ya know what you should’ve done when that douchebag ran his mouth? You should have asked him what the fuck is wrong with his spoon.” I reel in my line and bait my empty hook before recasting.

  My phone chimes, alerting me to a new text.

  “His spoon?”

  “That’s what I said,” I reply as I open up my messages and see a text from Adam. “When guys complain about the ‘pot,’ it has more to do with size of the spoon. That should shut the pencil dick up.”

  Will howls in laughter as I read Adam’s message. We have plans to hit the bar tonight. Once a month, his parents take Lily and Gage on weekend adventures. We usually make adult plans of our own.

  Celia’s coming tonight. You don’t mind, right?

  Well, shit. I guess it doesn’t matter if I mind or not, since he’s already asked her. I know he and Celia have become fast friends, in addition to being neighbors, but I’ve kept a safe distance these last few months after our awkward first meeting. I don’t have anything against the girl; I just don’t want to spend my Saturday night apologizing.

  “I can’t wait to shut Carson up. He needs to be taken down a few notches, if you ask me,” Will says with a chuckle.

  “Huh?” I ask, my mind preoccupied with visions of my asshat behavior around a certain fairy. “Oh, yeah, set that fucker straight, Will. He shouldn’t be saying those things about that girl; I don’t care if her pussy makes the Grand Canyon look like a ditch. A real man keeps that shit to himself.”

  Will nods in agreement and looks at me with a genuine level of respect. I’m glad he still values my opinion instead of following the masses of dickheads in his frat. He’s a good kid;
he just needs a little direction and guidance.

  I settle back into my seat and refocus on catching some bass, feeling my job here is done. I can only hope my night out goes as well as the morning…

  I rap my knuckles on the door and walk inside without waiting for permission. I know Adam doesn’t have a chick inside, because if he did, there’s no way he’d be going out with me tonight. I can hear the strumming of a guitar from out on the porch, and I can’t hold back my eye roll and smirk.

  “God, man, you are such a clichéd douche. Save the tortured musician act for the bar. I don’t have a vagina, so no need to impress me.”

  I round the corner, into the living room, and my eyes settle on a sparkling fairy with wide eyes and a pretty pink mouth, set in the shape of an “O.” She’s perched on the edge of Adam’s sofa, her pale yellow dress barely reaching the tops of her knees.

  Why do I always make a supreme ass out of myself anytime this girl is around?

  I grip the back of my neck and shake my head. I hear a low, amused chuckle coming from Adam, and I shoot him an irritated frown.

  Before I can launch into my litany of excuses and apologies, Celia bursts out laughing. “You had better not be trying to get in my pants, Adam Hunt, or so help me, I’ll wrap those guitar strings around your sweet little neck.”

  Celia’s unexpected sass stuns me into silence, and believe me, that’s no easy feat. I’m usually the master of smartass. My comebacks have comebacks.

  “Aw, you know you want a piece of this, Celia. Don’t try to deny it,” Adam motions seductively down his chest. In pure douche fashion, he winks and juts his chin out in her direction.

  “Oh my God, I think I just vomited a little in my mouth,” she says, wrapping her delicate fingers around her neck and making the universal choking sign. “Are there women that actually fall for that drivel?”

  “Like moths to the flame. Bees to honey. Like … like,” Adam says as he waves his hand trying to conjure the words.

  My head flits back and forth between them as I watch this ping-pong match of digs, and I love it. This girl just may be able to hold her own with Adam and me after all. She may not be as fragile as I thought.

  “Crabs to the crotch?” she fires back with a belly laugh. “Tone it down a skoch, Rico Suave.”

  “Whew, crabs to the crotch. That’s a wrap. She got you, man. Just surrender,” I say as my shoulders shake with laughter.

  After setting down his guitar, Adam raises his hands and bows his head. “I’ll keep my crabs to myself, I promise, Celia. Besides, Lily and Gage would kill me if you stopped coming around. You are firmly in my no-date zone.”

  “Damn straight. Those munchkins love Aunt Cece.” She shrugs her shoulders and tips her head to the side. “Cain, I hope you don’t mind if I tag along. I promise, I won’t be too much trouble.” She turns to face me and flutters her eyelashes sweetly—a little too sweetly. I’m pretty damn sure she’s playing me.

  “Nah, Tink, I don’t mind,” I say with a wave of my hand and an “aw shucks” expression.

  And damn if it isn’t the truth. Initially, I was irritated with Adam for inviting her, but right now, in this moment, I’m cool with it. I’m cool with her. As far as I’m concerned, the fairy can stay.

  As we file out the front door, I hear Adam whisper, “You know I don’t really have crabs, right?”

  Never one to miss an opportunity to mess with him, I chime right in. “You don’t have to lie to kick it, dude. We still love you.”

  “I have noticed you pulling on it a lot,” Celia adds with wide innocent eyes. “Totally makes sense now.”

  “Ah, fuck y’all, man.”

  Yeah, she’ll fit right in…

  “Dancing Shoes” by Green River Ordinance

  Present Day

  THE COURTYARD IS packed tonight, the patio filled to the brim with patrons on the prowl and the line at the bar a mile long. Luckily, we got here early enough to perch ourselves on barstools with a clear view of the room and easy access to the bartenders. I know Adam opted to come here instead of our usual prowling spot, The Keg, for Celia’s benefit, and I’m in total agreement. I don’t care how feisty she is, Celia doesn’t belong in that meat market. The Courtyard is a little more low key and relaxed—more acoustic jams and beer as opposed to Jager bombs and sweaty cleavage.

  Not that there’s anything wrong with sweaty cleavage. I’m a huge fan.

  “Why don’t you jump up on that stage, Casanova, and show ‘em how it’s done,” I taunt. I wiggle my eyebrows at Adam as I take a pull from my beer. In truth, I’ve seen Adam fiddle with his guitar¸ but I’ve never seen him perform for a crowd. Drunk chicks throwing themselves at him, panties flying in the air? I bet he would eat that shit up.

  Adam’s quick-witted response is to pelt me in the head with a bottle cap, and I give him a much-deserved one-finger salute. He knows I’m just messing with him. Adam and I settled into an easy banter from the very start of our friendship.

  “So, Cain, are you excited about helping out at the clinic?” Celia trains her eyes on me, gauging my response. She leans slightly forward to get a good look since we’re lined up at the bar with Adam between us.

  I have no clue what she’s talking about, and it’s clear she knows it by her fallen expression. She slaps Adam’s shoulder in irritation and scowls. “You said you were gonna talk to him.”

  “Ow! You don’t have to hit me, woman. Cain and I haven’t caught up with each other in a while.” Adam rubs his arm as if a two hundred fifty pound man punched him.

  “I’ll ask him now,” he says, turning to me with a contrite look on his face. “Cain, would you be interested in helping me with a new project at New Horizons?”

  “Um, sure?” I answer, more than a little confused. “Wait, I knew Celia worked there, but when did you start working at the clinic, Adam?”

  “He’s starting up a new program for domestic violence victims. Isn’t that great?” Celia beams with pride, and, in that moment, I realize she and Adam have become closer than I realize. I know Celia babysits for Adam on occasion, so I really I shouldn’t be surprised. He’d never leave Lily and Gage in her care if he didn’t trust her. I guess I never gave it much thought before now. The tie between them doesn’t feel in the least bit romantic, though. I sense more of a sibling-type bond.

  “Someone in the community donated a good-sized house to the clinic just a few months ago, and we’re gonna use it as a shelter. We’ll provide a safe place to stay while these women figure out their next move. Pressing charges, restraining orders, employment, relocation—we’ll assist them with whatever they need. We were thinking you could help with relocation, procuring their belongings in some cases, those type of things,” Adam explains, and I feel the passion for this project pouring off him. It makes sense, of course. I’m glad he’s found an outlet to deal with his sister’s death. I’m sure his grief stoked his interest in this project.

  “We want you to be the muscle,” Celia chimes in from behind Adam.

  I choke back a laugh and take a swig of my beer. “Sure, I’d be more than happy to be pretty boy’s bodyguard. We wouldn’t want him to break a nail.”

  “Screw you, dude,” Adam replies with a chuckle. “You know what she means. It would be good to have two of us on hand if a situation arises.”

  “No, I get it, I’m just fucking around. I’d love to help. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll be there.”

  “Yay!” Celia cheers as she claps and hops in her seat.

  Adam turns to Celia with a “happy now?” expression and she grins. We settle into a companionable silence of enjoying the band and sipping our beers. It doesn’t take long for Adam’s “come hither” looks to attract a few customers—the first being a bottle blonde with collagen-filled lips.

  Why in the hell do girls think that’s attractive? Freshly punched in the mouth is not a good look for anyone.

  She sidles up next to him in a flash and runs a red fingernail up his arm an
d underneath his cuffed sleeve, tracing the beginnings of his tattoo. “Dance with me?”

  She bats her eyelashes and pouts her lips. Adam must be buying this shit, because he curls a hand around her waist and squeezes.

  “Sure thing, babe. Why don’t I buy you a drink first?” he croons, and she nods in agreement, all the while edging closer in between his legs.

  She must have bathed in perfume before she came here, because the smell is burning my nose hairs. It must be bothering Celia, too, because I see her cute little nose scrunch from behind Adam’s shoulder.

  Adam leans in to get the bartender’s attention, and his change in position puts Big Lips eye-to-eye with Celia, who’s smiling sweetly in her direction.

  Seemingly uncomfortable with the silence, Celia points to Adam. “You know, he plays the guitar. It’s sooooooo sexy.” She continues to point while exaggerating a head nod and widened eyes.

  I’m staring at her back, but Big Lips’s head tilts to the side, in what I can only imagine is confusion.

  “I mean,” Celia continues, “it’s practically panty-melting. You should get him to play a song for you. And have you seen his eyes?”

  At this point, Adam has turned to look at Celia in what can only be described as sheer horror, and his random pick-up is looking down and fumbling in her purse.

  “Oh, sorry,” she mumbles, her lips no longer trained in a pout. “My friends are calling me. I need to … go.”

  Big Lips scampers off in a hurry, and I bite my cheek to hold back my laughter. Adam turns to Celia, hands raised in question. “What the fuck was that?”

  Celia jerks her head back, and her jaw falls open. “What do you mean? I’m your wingwoman. I was trying to help.”

  No longer able to hold it in, I toss my head back and roar with laughter. I slam my hand on the bar, making the bottles jump. “Whew! Damn, Tink, thanks for that. I needed a good laugh.”