Juggernaut

by K. S. Adkins

  “You have two minutes,” Hillary threatens. “Then we breach.”

  “We are not fucking SEAL Team Six,” I argue.

  “Clock’s ticking,” Sugar smiles, and I know for certain neither is kidding.

  Letting myself in, Whitney pales even further, trying to hide in her hospital bed, but has nowhere to go. Taking a seat next to her, I look her over. “Since you can’t talk, you’re going to sit still and listen.”

  Shaking her head, no, she tries pressing the call button, but I slap it out of her hand.

  “Try that again, and I’ll break your fingers,” I warn her. Properly afraid, she glares, but stays put. “You’re no ordinary bitch. You’re a hybrid. There’s not even a name for your brand of awful yet. But I suspect you know that. I also suspect you don’t care, which is a hundred ways from fucked up. Tomorrow morning, you are going to personally have India reinstated on the board you had her wrongfully removed from. Then, you will contact human resources and retract your bullshit harassment story about Sugar. You will also ensure she gets the sweetest severance package your inheritance can buy. Are you with me, Whitney?”

  Though she can’t talk, her sneer says it all.

  “What you did to India and Sugar was dirty. But what you did to Hillary, I can’t let slide. You interfered in another woman’s marriage. You broke the very laws the sisterhood was built on. Since I can’t re-bust your jaw, I have no choice but to resort to plan B.” When a whimper escapes, I know I have her. “For the sisterhood, I agreed to lunch with your parents. Good people, I must say. I’m looking forward to becoming the daughter they wished they had. Oh, and your mom sends the best emojis when she texts. Does she do that for you, too?”

  Sucking in a breath, eyes round and hands shaking, Whitney reaches for me. But I grasp her wrists applying pressure.

  “Fucking with me was one thing. But fucking with my girls was an unforgivable sin. When I’m finished, no one will hear your name, or see your face, and not know what you’ve done. You will never again be trusted, invites will dry up, and even your parents will deny claiming you. I may have a past that you find shameful, I may never have your parents’ kind of money either, but what I do have is unlimited resources. In this, I am more powerful than you. In this, I am invincible. Nod if you understand me, Whitney.”

  “Taylor,” Hillary whispers from the door where Sugar is holding her up. “She’s the one who slept with Nolan?”

  Fuck, I’ve wanted to spare her from this. “Yes.”

  “She’s the one who outed Sugar, had India voted off the board, and ruined your engagement?” she presses.

  “Yes.”

  Pulling Sugar right along with her, she comes to stand next to me, grabbing my hand. Leaning over the bed, right in Whitney’s space, she says, “Every time Nolan’s inside of you, he’ll see my face. A face that puts yours to shame. A body that can do things yours never will. And when he casts you to the side, begs at my door to come home, I’m tossing him right back to you. Enjoy my leftovers, Whitney. I hope you like how I taste.”

  “Do you know what happens when you anger a lesbian?” Sugar asks sweetly. “No? Well, you anger all lesbians. You angered the lezzie gods, Whitney. Big fucking no-no. I’ve locked onto your disgusting scent, there’s no escaping us now.”

  “Let’s go, girls,” I advise and reluctantly they listen.

  Just when we’re about to step through the door, Whitney struggles to say through her closed mouth, “Evander will never marry a stripper.”

  Halting my exit, I approach her one final time and get in her face. “Maybe not, but he’ll never marry a bitch with a broken jaw who can’t suck his dick either.”

  “Boom!” Hillary shouts in praise.

  “I might have to reconsider blowies just for that line alone,” Sugar adds with a thumbs up.

  “When your jaw works again,” I threaten. “You will personally apologize to Van and his parents, too. Oh, and when you press charges, just make sure you spell my name right.”

  And with that, I leave Whitney Noble behind.

  Waking up on my parents’ couch was a low point.

  Then I noticed Scott shaking his head at me and realized this is what rock bottom must feel like.

  But what I felt wouldn’t hold a candle to what he and India had just endured.

  “I am so sorry about the baby,” is all I could offer.

  “Thank you,” he says briefly closing his eyes.

  “You should be with your wife,” I groan attempting to sit up.

  “Who do you think sent me?”

  “How is she?”

  “Devastated, sore, and as always, trying to make it okay for me.”

  “How are you?”

  “I can’t talk about it yet, Evander,” he says standing up. “But India insisted I come by here and check on you so that’s what I’m doing.”

  “You’re pissed at me.”

  “I’m pissed at the situation,” he corrects. “I’m pissed that Whitney had an opportunity to hurt a lot of people and she took it. And I’m really pissed at how it affects Taylor.”

  “I didn’t know she –”

  “She should have never even been there, Evander,” he scolds me. “Fuck man, you knew better. You knew she’d act up. Was showing off worth the fall out? Was it worth what it did to Taylor?”

  “I’ll fix this with Taylor,” I vow.

  “I’m not sure you can,” he says crossing his arms over his chest. “But you better at least try.”

  “I love her, Scott.”

  “Maybe you do,” he says sadly. “But her past should not play any part in your future.”

  “What?” I ask confused.

  “Talk to your father,” he says grabbing his coat. “I need to get back to my wife.”

  Blinking hard, I try to make sense of what Scott had just said but was coming up short.

  I needed coffee, aspirin, and Taylor.

  But what I got was my father scowling at me instead.

  “What?” I snap, reaching for my cup.

  “How’d you sleep?”

  “Fine,” I ground out.

  “You’re grumpy in the morning,” he offers blandly.

  “Where’s the aspirin?”

  “Here,” he says opening a cupboard and tossing me the bottle. Glancing at him I ask, “Why are you smiling?”

  “Finally,” he grins wide. “Only took forty years but you finally fucked up.”

  “And this makes you happy?”

  “No,” he scoffs. “This makes you human.”

  “It makes me an asshole,” I mumble.

  “That too,” he agrees. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”

  “For what?”

  “For my son to need me.”

  Such a simple admission from him makes me feel shittier than I already do. Not only had I hurt Taylor, but my dad too. “Anyway,” he continues. “You were in an impossible situation. Granted, it was one of your own making, but still…”

  “I get it.”

  “This is repairable, Evander.”

  “She left,” I remind him.

  “Because she was heartbroken and humiliated; yes, I was there, I remember.”

  “Because of me.”

  “Because of Whitney, but at least you recognize you set her up for it.”

  “Fuck,” I groan in agony.

  “We all make mistakes, have lapses in judgment and it’s nice knowing my son isn’t immune. You let ego get the best of you, I suspect you learned the hard way never to do that again.”

  “No shit.”

  “You’re an attorney, Evander.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, dad I do.”

  “Then why are you in my kitchen, drinking my coffee and eating my aspirin when you could be pleading your case?”

  “Because I don’t know what to say.”

  “Sometimes,” he says slapping me on the back. “It’s not about what’s being said but about
what’s being done.”

  Slamming my coffee back, I pull him in for a man hug and pray to God he’s right.

  My plan was to stay in bed and pout for eternity until India called to say Hillary didn’t show for work.

  Being that India worked hand in hand with her most days, Hillary being a no-show did not mean good things.

  Mustering every ounce of energy I had, I dressed and made my way to her house first.

  The second I rounded her corner to her sub, I knew something was seriously wrong.

  Not only had she run clean over her mailbox, her car was half on the grass and the front door was wide open too.

  Sailing into the driveway, I throw my car in park and haul ass up the steps.

  Yelling her name, I search the living room, kitchen, and bathroom coming up empty.

  Ready to hit the steps up to her bedroom I hear her whimper my name.

  When I step into the dining room, it’s to find her curled up in the corner under the window.

  Surrounding her was tissue, broken glass, and liquor bottles.

  “Hillary,” I whisper in dismay. “Don’t move.”

  Quickly grabbing the broom and dust pan from the kitchen, I sweep the mess away and kneel in front of her.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask her.

  Her answer was a small nod. “What hurts, honey?”

  Looking up at me she doesn’t speak but places her hand over her heart.

  Our situations may be different, but heartache was heartache. I understood that.

  “Come on, Hill,” I say gently. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  “No!” she yells pushing me hard enough that I fall back on my ass.

  “What the fuck?” I grunt. “I’m trying to help you!”

  “You can’t!”

  “Hill –”

  “Just stay, okay?” she cries. “Don’t call them, just—stay?”

  “Okay,” I agree. “I’ll stay.”

  “You look as broken as I feel,” she says grabbing the vodka bottle from the table.

  “To keeps things fair, you look like absolute shit too, Hillary.”

  “Ha,” she laughs without humor. “Don’t I know it.”

  Snagging the bottle, I take my own pull and ask her, “Did you come home drunk last night?”

  “No,” she says softly. “I was crying and ran over the fucking mailbox. I was so embarrassed I ran inside the house.”

  While prone to misery, Hillary was not a liar. “Then I got hammered.”

  “What do you want, Hillary?” I ask passing the bottle back. “What’s your end game?”

  Slamming it, she confesses, “I want to know what real happiness feels like.”

  I could understand that, so I stayed quiet. However, when she screamed bloody murder and the bottle went crashing into the wall, I sat there and helplessly watched Hillary come undone.

  “I want to know what it fucking feels like!” she shrieks at the same time stumbles. Yeah, she was still drunk and this was going to get ugly. Well, uglier. Although, after she ripped a set of shears from the window with one hand, picked up a dining chair and hurled it, then proceeded to open the door to the china cabinet, I realized ugly could be violent.

  “Hillary, stop,” I order her.

  “I am sick of feeling this way!” she roars.

  “Look at me, honey,” I beg her. “Focus on me.”

  When she clenched her fists, I backed up.

  “I want to see him and feel my breath catch! I want to wake up nestled into his side! I would tell him every day how much I love him! I wouldn’t let misery anywhere near him!”

  “Him who, Hillary?” I ask moving closer.

  Stunned into silence, she blinks, falls into my body and wraps herself around me. Clutching her for all I’m worth, I ask again, “Who is he, Hill?”

  “I don’t know his name,” she weeps into my chest. “But he’s got to be real, right?”

  Once again, I found myself in a position of helplessness. I couldn’t fix her heartache or her loneliness. Hell, I was barely coping with my own. “He’s real,” I promise her. “And he’ll find you when the time is right.”

  “How did I get here, Taylor? How did I fuck my life up so badly?”

  “If I knew the answers, honey, neither of us would be drinking liquor without a chaser on a Monday morning.”

  “You love him, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “You know his name, Tay,” she whispers. “Use it. Call him.”

  “I can’t,” I whisper back.

  “He’s your one,” she squeezes me. “Don’t fuck it up.”

  “This moment is about you, Hillary.”

  “I don’t want to be miserable anymore,” she says softly. “The Shit deserves better than this, I deserve better than this.”

  And right then and there, I watched Hillary’s entire aura shift right in front of my eyes.

  “I’m taking a shower,” she says dusting off. “Then we’re going out for drinks.”

  Call me crazy, but Miss Misery was nowhere to be seen.

  It’s been two weeks since everything went to hell.

  Two weeks where she doesn’t return my calls, texts, and even dismantled the buzzer to her warehouse door.

  I couldn’t plead a case she refused to hear.

  Scott nor India will share what they know, if they know anything.

  All they would say is Taylor is figuring shit out.

  They didn’t add without you, but her silence proves they didn’t have to.

  The only one who took initiative to call was Sugar. And even that was a one-sided conversation. Because she wanted me to know who Taylor is. I argued that I did, in fact, know but was told to shut up.

  So, staying silent, as requested, I let Sugar say what she needed to say.

  She started with, “She makes out with the prospects for me, Evander.”

  “Pardon?”

  “To get them to notice me,” she said softly. “She does it so the hot chicks will go for me. Up my street cred.”

  “How does this help me?”

  “Because you broke her. Now you have to fix her.”

  “I broke her?”

  “Not on purpose, but most breaks are accidental, am I, right?”

  “Could you summarize?”

  “She brought you to The Box Office, camping, karaoke, a concert…She doesn’t do things like that, Evander. That’s reserved solely for The Shit. Yet, she brought you into the fold. See where this is going?”

  “So, I’m the exception?”

  “Duh, you’re Taylor’s.”

  “How do I fix her?”

  “Make her wish come true.”

  “What’s her wish, Sugar?”

  “I’d tell you,” she says sweetly. “But then I’d have to kill you. However, I’ll leave you with this; you already know.”

  I can’t work, eat, or sleep.

  That fucking party is on a constant loop in my head.

  It doesn’t matter that Whitney apologized to my parents, had India reinstated on the board, dumped Hillary’s ex-husband or made things right for Sugar. That bitch gave Taylor a reason to run and I hate her for it.

  I don’t blame Taylor for being hurt by it, but I hadn’t been the one to hurt her, yet I’m being punished for it. She found her escape from me and took it. More undeniable proof she doesn’t love me. At least that’s how it feels.

  Every day my parents call for an update and it’s increasingly frustrating when I don’t have one to give.

  Which is why, when Hillary broke her silence to call and explain her idea, she has to repeat it twice before I can grasp it.

  “You need me to get into a strip club?”

  “That’s what I’m told,” she says happily. Hearing her speak with a smile in her voice will take some getting used to. “Though, it’s 2017 and feminism is the big thing right now, but rules are rules, I guess.”

  “Why not ask Scott?”

  “Oh, he’s in,�
� she assures me. “But I need you, Evander.”

  “Why?”

  “For a smart guy, you’re kinda stupid. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Actually,” I admit. “Yes.”

  “Not surprised,” she chirps. “Anyway, Taylor will be there.”

  “Hillary, I –”

  “Do I really have to twist your dick for this?” she huffs. “Fine. You know we’re The Shit, so that saves time. I’m not supposed to spill inside secrets, but fuck it, I’m turning over a new leaf. Ready for this? Taylor thinks you deserve better. That you should marry someone you would be proud of. Now, she hasn’t said these things out loud because she plays it off, but I know her, Evander. She’s doubting herself and your love for her.”

  “Van,” I correct.

  “You’re Van to her only,” she says. “Still, she’s doing what she thinks is best for you, your family, and your reputation. No one ever said Taylor had it all figured out, you know? For us, yes. For herself? She’s a little slow on the uptake. Plus, I know I’m right because she hasn’t taken her ring off. Seriously, she stares at it like it’s her precious.”

  “What time?” I rush out.

  “Atta boy,” she praises. “Eleven p.m., I’ll text you the locale.”

  “Should I bring her flowers?”

  “What the hell for?”

  “To say I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what, Evander?”

  “Not protecting her from Whitney.”

  “Oh, that bitch?” she laughs. “Taylor sure handled that problem, didn’t she?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “My date’s here,” she says, shutting me down.

  “Date?”

  “Making up for lost time,” she says on a giggle. “See you tomorrow!”

  At a complete loss of what to do, I pack up my brief case, and thirty minutes later, shocked my parents by knocking on their front door.

  “The hell are you knocking for?” My father asks eyeing me. “You’re my son, not a solicitor. Jesus, it’s like you were raised by the Cleavers. Get your ass in here.”

  I no sooner set my items down when my mother comes barreling into the foyer with her arms open. “You’re here!” she says on a cry. “Without adding it to your calendar!”

  “Hello, Mom.”

  “And they say you can’t train an old dog!”