Tackle (K19 Security Solutions)

by Heather Slade

  “Of course. Why?” Jesus. Had Tackle said something to him?

  “You look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

  I turned, studied my face in the mirror, and pinched the bags under my eyes. “You know how it gets right before Christmas, with the extreme right-wing evangelicals fighting with the American Association for the Advancement of Atheism.”

  He sat down on the bed. “Really?”

  I shook my head. “No, but with the increase in large groups of people gathering in one place…You get it.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  I sat beside him. “How’s Onyx?”

  “No change.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  “To be honest, I’m more worried about Tackle.”

  Oh, no. “Why?”

  “He’s not himself.”

  “In what way?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from sounding frantic.

  “I don’t know, exactly. He’s been distant.”

  “You both went through something unimaginable.”

  “True. It seems like more. I probably shouldn’t say anything, but on the plane ride from Columbia home, he mentioned there was someone in his life. A woman he wasn’t sure felt the same way about him as he felt for her.”

  “Oh. Wow,” I said, even though inside I was screaming. What in the ever-loving fuck? There was a woman in his life, and yet, he’d had sex with me? On his way back from the airport, no less. Worked in a booty call with me so he didn’t jump the bones of the woman who wasn’t a sure thing. The asshole. There was my answer. That’s why I ran. Somewhere deep inside, I knew I didn’t mean anything to him. It wasn’t just that I didn’t mean as much to him as he meant to me; it was that I didn’t mean jack shit. God, I was as much of an idiot as he was pond scum.

  My brother was still talking, but I’d stopped listening. “Sloane?”

  “What?”

  “You haven’t seen him around town with anyone, have you?”

  “Sorry, I don’t keep tabs on your friends, Knox.”

  He cocked his head.

  “Sorry,” I repeated. “No, I haven’t seen him at all, let alone with someone.”

  “Right.” He stood. “I just can’t believe the guy who’s been my best friend all these years didn’t tell me he was dating someone.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  He nodded. “We should probably get down there before Mom comes looking for us.”

  “It’s you she won’t let out of her sight. I’m part of the woodwork.”

  Knox rolled his eyes and messed my hair again. “The peanut gallery feeling sorry for herself?”

  “Actually, I wouldn’t mind disappearing for a while.”

  Knox’s eyes hooded. “Don’t joke about that, Sloane.”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “That reminds me, there’s a job I’m taking on after the holidays.”

  “You are? Have you lost your mind? Do not tell Mom, especially today.”

  “It’s not a mission. Not really. Missing person.”

  “Oh.”

  “She’s a friend of the wives of a couple of the guys I work with.”

  “I hope she turns up.”

  He walked over to the window and looked outside. “Me too.” He turned back to me. “He didn’t even come inside to say hello,” he mumbled as he walked out of my bedroom.

  I followed him downstairs and into the kitchen when I heard our mother barking orders at him about what she needed help with.

  “Go relax. I can do this,” I told him.

  “I don’t mind. I haven’t done much other than sit by a guy’s bedside for the last couple of weeks.” He looked over his shoulder and then leaned closer to me. “Think we can talk her into opening presents earlier tonight?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m an old man, sis. Staying up until midnight just to open a couple of presents seems…unnecessary.”

  “She thought you were dead. You really want to go there?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Yeah. Maybe next year.”

  “Plus, we won’t be done cooking until then.”

  Every year, my mother insisted we make all the food. It was one reason she invited Tackle’s family over on Christmas Day. We’d never be able to eat all of it ourselves.

  The traditional pernil, or whole pork shoulder, had been roasting in the oven since yesterday. Today, we’d be making hallacas, which were like tamales but wrapped in plantain leaves instead of corn husks, along with pan de jamón. Of all the Venezuelan Christmas foods my mother insisted be made every year, the puff pastry filled with ham, raisins, olives, and bacon was my favorite. This year, though, it didn’t sound that good.

  In fact, by mid-afternoon, I felt so sick to my stomach that I went upstairs to lie down. When I woke up, it was dark and I had no idea what time it was. I thought about getting up to check, but must’ve fallen back to sleep because, when I opened my eyes again, it was daylight.

  Shit. I’d missed Niño Jesús’ presents. Why hadn’t anyone woken me up?

  I sat on the edge of the bed, but when I felt the same nausea as yesterday, I lay back down. Great. Christmas and I was sick. At least I had an excuse not to socialize with the Sorensons and their asshole son.

  I still couldn’t believe he’d had sex with me when he was involved with another woman. It made me so mad that I clenched my fist and pounded on the mattress.

  “Mija, is everything okay?” my mom asked, opening my bedroom door. Did she suddenly have supersonic hearing? She sat on the side of the bed and brushed my hair from my forehead. “Are you feeling any better? You don’t have a fever.”

  I moved her hand away, jumped out of bed, and raced toward the bathroom. After emptying the contents of my stomach, I held the wall as I made my way back.

  “Sorry, Mom, but you should stay away from me in case this is contagious.”

  She sighed but, thankfully, left.

  When I woke two hours later, I felt a lot better. I thought about staying in bed anyway, but I was starving. I changed my clothes and decided I could shower after I ate, so I put my hair up in a messy bun and went downstairs. At the same time I hit the bottom landing, the front door opened.

  “Anyone home?” I heard Tackle’s mother, Alice, holler out. If she and I hadn’t come face-to-face, I would’ve turned around and raced back up the stairs.

  “Oh, Sloane. It’s good to see you. Are you feeling better?”

  “A little bit.”

  She stepped aside, and Nils came in, followed by Tackle.

  “Merry Christmas,” I said, rushing from the stairs into the kitchen. I grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and loaded it with equal amounts of pernil and pan de jamón.

  One of the things I liked about the house I grew up in was that it had a back staircase, which meant I could get to my bedroom without having to face our company again.

  I filled a water bottle and was a few steps up when I heard footsteps.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Tackle asked.

  “Where does it look like? Leave me alone. I’m sick,” I said without looking at him.

  “Sloane, we need to talk.”

  I turned halfway and leaned up against the wall. “Knox filled me in. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

  He stepped on the bottom stair.

  “No farther,” I said, holding up my water bottle like a weapon.

  “What does that mean ‘you won’t tell’?”

  “Is she here?”

  When he took another step up, I took two.

  “You saw my mom when she came in.”

  “Not her. Your girlfriend.”

  “My girlfriend? What the fuck are you talking about? You’re delirious. Let me get that for you.” He grabbed the water bottle and my bowl of food and squeezed past me.

  “Hey!” I shouted after him, but by then, he was already in my bedroom. “You need to leave,” I said, motioning toward the doo
r.

  “Nope. Not going anywhere until you agree to talk to me.”

  “We have nothing to talk about. Not to mention if you stay up here, my brother is going to come looking for you. What reason will you give him for being in my bedroom?”

  He stepped onto the threshold. “You’re right, but we need to talk.”

  I shook my head. “We don’t.”

  “Sloane, what happened—”

  “First of all, lower your voice. And second, I’m more than happy to pretend like it was all a bad dream if that’s what you want.”

  He rubbed his chest with one hand. “Wow. Was it really that bad? Is that why you took off? I’ve never had anyone—”

  “Just shut up and go away,” I said, giving him a hard shove. It was far enough that I could close the door, but he stuck his hand out and stopped it. He came back inside and shut it behind him.

  “Look, I’m sorry. Okay? You’re right. What we did never should’ve happened.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You’re willing to pretend it was a bad dream? Sounds like you said exactly that.”

  When he sighed and looked up at me with those gorgeous green eyes, I wanted to fall into his arms and beg him to forgive me, not just for being a bitch to him now, but for racing out that day and blocking his calls since. But there was still the matter of the “woman in his life.”

  “Why are you here? There’s nothing to talk about. If you’re afraid I’m going to tell someone and it’ll get back to her, don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”

  “I don’t know—” Tackle went silent when we heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “Answer your fucking phone when I call you,” he half spat, half whispered before opening the door and stepping into the hallway.

  “What’s going on?” I heard Knox ask.

  “I helped Sloane bring some stuff up from downstairs.”

  “How’s she feeling?”

  “Not sure.” At first, I thought they’d walked away, but Tackle’s next words sounded like they came from right outside my door. “Except she’s really fucking grouchy.”

  “Usually is when she’s sick. Takes after our mom.”

  This time, I was sure I heard two sets of feet going downstairs.

  7

  Tackle

  “You hungry?”

  I was. Halo’s mom was a great cook, and every year, I looked forward to coming over here to eat the traditional Venezuelan food she made.

  My parents were straight-up American, but both sets of my grandparents had immigrated here from Scandinavia. Outside of Swedish meatballs, which never tasted as good as they sounded, my mom didn’t make much food from her parents’ homeland.

  I followed Halo into the kitchen, ready to heap a plate with food, but found I wasn’t as hungry as I thought I was. My conversation with Sloane had been so damn weird.

  Under any other circumstances, I would go straight back upstairs and get to the bottom of the weird shit she’d said. If you’re worried it’ll get back to her, don’t be. Back to who? That was only one of the things she’d said that made no sense. Like her asking if my girlfriend was with me. Where had that come from? I hadn’t had a girlfriend since college, and even then, they hadn’t lasted very long.

  “What do you think is wrong with her?” I asked.

  Halo looked up from the roast pork he was devouring. “Sloane?” He shrugged. “Probably the flu. She’s hiding out so she doesn’t get everyone else sick.”

  I leaned forward. “She was saying some crazy shit.”

  Halo stopped eating. “Like what?”

  “She asked if my girlfriend was here.”

  “Oh.”

  I sat back in my chair. “That doesn’t seem to surprise you.”

  “Yeah. Sorry, man. That’s on me. I kinda asked if she’d seen you around with anyone.”

  “Why?”

  “On the plane, you said there was someone but you weren’t sure she felt the same way you did.”

  “Halo, what the fuck?” I muttered, trying to keep my voice down. “I told you that in confidence.”

  He leaned forward like I had. “What’s with all the mystery, anyway? Since when don’t you tell me about a chick you’re into?”

  “Since I stopped referring to them as chicks and started calling them women.”

  He pushed back his chair and went to get more food. “I didn’t realize it was a damn secret. What is she? A teacher from our high school?”

  Worse. Way worse, but I couldn’t tell him that. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Like I said, she wasn’t as into me as I was her.”

  He sat back down and shoved more food into his mouth. “So who was she?”

  “I just told you it doesn’t matter.”

  He shook his head, got up from the table, and put his plate on the counter. Without another word, he stalked off in the direction of the living room.

  After making sure he was staying put for a few minutes at least, I went into the hallway and pulled out my phone.

  When I couldn’t decide what to say to Sloane, I shoved it back in my pocket.

  An hour later, I decided there was no point in my sticking around here any longer. Halo was being a dick, answering every question I asked either with a one-word answer or nothing at all. Sloane hadn’t shown her face again, not that I’d expected her to.

  “Where are you off to?” Halo asked when I grabbed my jacket from the front hall closet.

  “Goin’ to the grill.”

  “Mind if I come along?”

  “No, but you sure you want to?”

  “Look, it pisses me off that you didn’t say anything to me about whoever she is, but I get it. Like you said, she isn’t into you.” Halo grabbed his jacket. “It isn’t—?”

  “Who?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “Who were you going to ask me about?”

  “Shit. I can’t recall her name. Anyway, I heard she was married.”

  “How could you know someone is married if you can’t remember her name?”

  “I can picture her. What the hell was her name?”

  I was so relieved he didn’t ask me if it was Sloane that he could give me shit all night about women whose names he couldn’t remember.

  I was about to get into the car when something caught my eye. I looked up and saw Sloane watching us from her bedroom window. I waited until Halo got in before I raised my hand. By then, she was gone.

  The place we called the grill’s real name was the Biltmore, and it had been around since prohibition days. Back then, it was a speakeasy. Now, it was a dive bar, but with great food. Not that I was hungry.

  Halo and I made our way through the crowd until we got to the back, where guys we knew from high school usually hung out.

  “Tony, how the hell are you?” I asked, shaking the hand of a guy I’d played football with when he approached to say hello.

  “Hey, Tackle. I’m good.” He leaned in closer than necessary in the noisy jam-packed bar. “My dad said he heard you and Halo had a close call.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, my friend,” I said, gripping his shoulder in a way that answered him, yet warned him not to continue talking about it.

  “I’m glad you’re both okay.”

  “Appreciate it. Whatcha drinkin’?”

  “Same ol’ Sammy,” he said, holding up a bottle of Sam Adams.

  “Hey, Halo?” I pointed at Tony’s bottle, and he gave me a thumbs-up.

  An hour later, my phone and Halo’s both lit up with text messages. “Onyx is awake,” I yelled, pumping my fist in the air. I looked at Halo, whose eyes were brimming with tears like mine were.

  “It says he’s bitching about how Monk never shut up the whole time he was out. What do you think that means?”

  “No idea, but if he’s talking, we should be celebrating.”

  “Agreed. Shots for the house on Tackle and me,” Halo shouted to the bartender. It would cost us a fortune, giv
en how packed the place was, but who gave a shit. Onyx, our brother-in-arms, was awake.

  By the end of the night, I’d had too many beers, listened to too much bullshit, but felt better than I had in months. “We should call a cab,” I said to Halo, who was just as lit as I was. “I’ll come get my car tomorrow.”

  “Nah, I called Sloane.”

  “Say what? You called your sister? She’s sick, asshole.”

  Halo shook his head and took another swig of his beer. “She said she felt better.”

  “It’s snowing, and it’s two in the morning. God, you’re a jerk.”

  “What’s your problem? Have you forgotten all the other times Sloane picked us up from this very same bar?”

  Had she? I guess so. Damn, I was just as much of a jerk as he was. “She know I’m with you?”

  Halo looked over at me with scrunched eyes. “Who the fuck else would I be with? I’m beginning to think you got some kind of brain damage when that plane crashed.”

  “I’m taking a cab.” I pulled out my phone to call one when I saw a familiar car drive up.

  Sloane didn’t look at either her brother or me when we climbed in: him in the front seat, me in the back.

  “Tackle said I was an asshole for calling you, sis. Forgive me?”

  “If he’s as drunk as you are, I’d much rather you call me than try to drive. Then, you would be an asshole.”

  My eyes met hers in the rearview, and I wished so much that we were alone and I could get her to talk to me. I rested my head against the seat and closed my eyes, remembering in vivid detail—which was surprising in my inebriated state—how every inch of her body looked naked. “God, Sloane,” I groaned.

  “Tackle!” I heard her yell. “Wake the hell up and get out of the car.” I raised my head and saw she was parked in front of my parents’ house.

  “Sorry ’bout this,” I said, reaching over the seat to pat her shoulder. Halo was slouched up against the passenger door, mouth hanging open, and snoring. “And I’m sorry about the condom.”

  “What did you say?” she asked as I was opening the door to climb out.

  “I sure wish you hadn’t left that day,” I slurred, suddenly realizing I was a lot more drunk than I’d thought. I looked back over at Halo to make sure he was still asleep, and touched her neck with the tip of my finger.