Reckless

by Teagan Kade

  I haven’t considered it, too busy fighting Dad, Mom always in the periphery somewhere. “Why didn’t you stand up for me? Why did you have to side with Dad all the time?”

  Silence.

  “I want to know,” I continue.

  “I’m not saying it was the right thing to do, Carter. We’ve all made mistakes here, perhaps me more than anyone, but I cannot lose another son. I won’t.”

  “What makes you think I’m not already lost?”

  “Your father said Wren was staying with you. I’ve always liked her, Carter, always thought it would be you two together. I was surprised when she started dating David.”

  “It doesn’t matter. She just left. I fucked up that relationship, too.”

  “You were… together, now?”

  I’ve said too much. “So?”

  “Carter… That’s not right, not so soon after your brother…” She drifts off again. “Don’t take advantage of her.”

  I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I stand, knocking the chair over, seething down the line, punctuating my words. “You do not get to tell me what to do. You haven’t been part of my life for years. Not one fucking person visited when I was inside. Do you know what that felt like, left out in the cold by the one person who any man should be able to count on?”

  She breaks down completely. “Carter, please. I didn’t me—”

  But I’m on a roll. “No. You know what? Fuck Dad, fuck David, and fuck you too.”

  I hang up, throwing the cell across the room. It collects the wall and drops to the floor, unbroken, undamaged.

  Rain begins to drum on the roof, but I’m not about to sit here a second fucking longer.

  I swipe my keys off the counter and head outside.

  *

  It’s raining, the melancholy sky above unable to decide whether to piss down or simply drizzle the end of the day away.

  I sit down beside David’s gravestone, run my finger over the engraving. ‘Loving husband, brother, and son. You are always remembered.’

  I take another glug from the bottle of Turkey I’ve brought along. “Yeah, you’ll be remembered alright, brother.”

  My vision shifts from the booze. I jerk back, sure I see a black figure approaching from the hill, but when I open my eyes there’s nothing there.

  I drink, place my bottle down on his grave, my head slumped against the stone. “Why did you have to do it?” I ask, slurring my words.

  There’s no answer. I sit back and punch the stone, the skin of my knuckles breaking open, ribbons of blood running between my fingers. It doesn’t even hurt.

  “You fucked everything up. Do you know that? Can you even comprehend the fucking nightmare of a legacy you’ve left behind?” I’m shaking my head, heat prickling at the corners of my eyes that’s so unfamiliar, so abstract I can’t even comprehend what’s happening.

  I stand on shaky legs and swipe up the bottle, sinking a quarter of its contents, welcoming the burn of the liquor against the back of my throat.

  I throw it down. It smashes on the stone. I can see my reflection in the shards of glass, the broken man I’ve become.

  I look to the headstone again. “Why, David? Why?!” I shout.

  I collapse onto my knees before him, place a hand on top of the headstone. “We were brothers, weren’t we? We played football in the backyard, we took our bikes down to the seawall. We watched our first fucking porno together. What happened? What turned you into such a fucking asshole?”

  I think of Dad and my anger wells up ten-fold. He did this. He is responsible.

  You’re not thinking straight.

  Fuck that. Someone has to be held accountable.

  I hold the top of the stone with both hands, willing myself to crush it into dust. “If you were here, I’d kill you for what you did to Wren. I would choke the fucking life out of you.”

  But deep down I know they’re just words, that I’m speaking to a fucking rock. David’s not coming back, my little brother will never see another sunrise, never sleep with another woman, or live to see his twilight years. He’s dead.

  I cry, closing my eyes, the tears squeezed out hot and acidic, dripping down onto his grave. I have no more words, no more threats. It’s done. It’s all done. David’s gone. Wren’s gone.

  I stagger to my feet, looking around to make sure I’m still alone.

  Go to him, my dull head says. Give him a piece of your mind.

  With the liquor doing its work, it seems like a good idea. No, a great idea.

  I walk and stumble, heading back over the hill.

  It’s time I let our father know exactly what he’s responsible for.

  But I don’t make it to Dad’s place.

  I turn off the highway, for Oatville.

  It’s late, my senses blunt. I park the car half up on the sidewalk and fall from the driver’s side.

  I sniff, attempt to straighten myself up, and walk into Louie’s bar.

  I notice some regulars, a stranger or two seated at the bar. I take a seat beside a middle-aged man in a city-slicker suit. I tap once on the bar to get Louie’s attention.

  He comes over with a bottle of Beam in his hand. “You drunk, Carter?”

  I shrug. “So?”

  Louie places the bottle down, hands on the bar in front of me. “Go home, pal. I’ll call a taxi.”

  I put my hand up. “No.” It’s louder than I expect it to come out. I jerk my head towards the bottle. “Give me some of that, for old time’s sake.”

  Louie removes the bottle, stashing it under the bar. “Not tonight, friend. How about a club soda instead, on the house?”

  I don’t think I’ve got the energy to argue. I’m tired, can sense sobriety starting to return, and that’s the last place I want to be right now. I nod, Louie moving down the bar to fix my drink.

  “Tough week?”

  I turn to the guy in the suit. He’s smiling, lifting a glass of whiskey to his lips.

  “You could say that.”

  He takes a sip, before placing the glass down and turning to face me. “A woman, am I right?”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  “Or money, but let’s be honest. They’re one and the same.”

  “How’s that?” The words slur together, liquid-like.

  “Difficult to get, easy to lose.”

  Louie slides my club soda up. I take it, raising my glass to the suited man. “I’ll drink to that.”

  The man extends his hand. “Joe.”

  I take it. He’s got a solid grip. “Carter.”

  “Not Carter ‘Crusher’ White by chance?”

  I look down into my glass, stick to my go-to response. “Once upon a time.”

  The man smiles, shaking his head in disbelief. “You led the league in scoring in ’14, right?”

  “A lot’s changed since then.”

  “You can say that again. So, who is she? Your mystery woman.”

  The alcohol has loosened my tongue. “My dead brother’s wife.”

  Joe whistles. “Well okay, I can see the issue.”

  “He treated her like shit. I knew about it and I did nothing.”

  Joe takes my shoulder, squeezing. “Come on, pal. You strike me as a decent guy. I’m sure you did what you thought was best, and she’s a fox, right, your girl?”

  I smile back. “The foxiest fox of them all.” I sound like fucking Porky Pig.

  Joe’s still smiling, lets his hand fall off my shoulder. “You know, so you’re the brother-in-law. So what? You deserve happiness, don’t you?”

  “I do.” I nod.

  “You’d do anything for her, yes?”

  “I would.”

  “I think I’ve got something for you.” He reaches into his suit pocket and takes out a business card, sliding it across the bar. I take it, struggle to read. “It’s just numbers.”

  Joe leans in, lowering his voice. He takes the business card back, placing it on the bar and stabbing it with his figure. In a flash the friendly
stranger is gone, his facial features pulled tight and tense. “You’re damn straight they are numbers, and if you want to keep Wren safe, you’ll pay the money you owe Tommy into this account.”

  Fuck.

  I spin to find Louie.

  Something cold and hard presses into my crotch. I look between my legs to find a pistol jammed there.

  “Not a good idea, Crusher,” says Joe. “Now, do we have an understanding, or shall I blow off your babymaker here and head on down to the cabin?”

  I should deck this motherfucker, but even though I’m drunk, some semblance of sense rises through. “I understand,” I tell him through gritted teeth.

  Joe presses the gun harder into my crotch.

  I wince.

  “Good,” he says. “I’m leaving now and you’re not going to follow me if you know what’s good for you. Pay up, Crusher. Pay up or I’ll personally ensure you’re not the only one getting fucked when this goes bad.”

  I watch as he stands and stealthily slips his pistol into his jacket, placing down a hundred-dollar bill on the bar.

  I let him walk. I’ve got no other choice.

  I sit there thinking, pushing my club soda from hand to hand. I’m fucked. No, it’s worse. I’ve put Wren in danger, too.

  But he said ‘the cabin.’ He doesn’t know she’s left. Maybe she’ll be okay.

  I doubt it.

  You just drag everything down into the shit, don’t you, big boy?

  Fuck it.

  I look around the bar, but no one’s paying attention, too caught up in their own boozing to give a damn about me, a convicted criminal.

  I stand and make my move.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  WREN

  “Aunty Wren! Aunty Wren!” come the cries as soon as the door opens, two little people swirling around my legs like some kind of toddler tornado. I bend down and pull the twins in, trying not to turn into a human puddle in front of them.

  I stand, June smiling looking equally teary-eyed. “Come here, kid,” she says.

  We hug, and it’s nice to be back in New York, with friends, family.

  June’s husband is nowhere to be seen. I look around. “Where’s Tim?”

  “Oh,” she says, hands in her back pockets. “He went out to get some supplies. I swear to god the twins are eating us out of house and home at the moment”.

  I rub Elijah’s head. “You’re growing boys. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes,” they chime.

  “Aunty Wren,” says Eric. “Have you been crying?” His pudgy face scrunches up as he says it, like he’s examining me for a rare disease.

  I kneel down to his level. “You’re right. Aunty Wren was a little sad.” He sits on my knee. “But now I’m here with you guys, I’m happy again.”

  He smiles, satisfied with this simple answer. He takes my hand. “Want to see our dinosaur collection?”

  “Dinosaurs! Dinosaurs!” calls Elijah, bouncing up and down.

  “As long as there’s not a really scary T-rex there.”

  And with that, they’re sold, tugging me upstairs towards their room.

  “Welcome to Jurassic Park,” laughs June. “Don’t expect to come out alive.”

  *

  Twins finally in bed, June and I sit down in the kitchen. She hands me a steaming mug.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Chamomile.”

  “No, the mug.” I hold it up, turning it this way and that. “Is it a rocket?”

  She shrugs. “One of the twins made it in preschool. Looks like a dildo, I know.”

  We both laugh. I take a sip from the dildo mug. It’s good.

  Tim talked to me a little earlier, but he’s since retreated to his man cave down the back of the apartment. He’s never been one for in-depth conversation, no doubt sensing I’m not here for a simple visit. “Does he know?” I ask.

  “Tim?” replies June, the telepathy between us in tune. “Hate to tell you, hon, but everyone knows. This is New York. You were right up there on the social ladder, and you know what people love seeing more than someone climb it…”

  I don’t need to fill in the rest. “How did this go so wrong so fast?”

  “You just answered your own question. It moved too quickly. You never gave it time to bloom.”

  “He’s a man, not a garden.”

  “But you bloomed, did you not? I can see it written all over your face.”

  “Anxiety, apprehension?”

  “The big O.”

  “Os,” I correct. “Plural. Sometimes he tended to my garden multiple times a day.”

  “Did he?” June smiles. “A godly gardener with a shovel to match and yet you’re here, in the house of horrors.”

  I hold the mug with two hands. “Like I said, I don’t know what happened. One moment we were so happy, I was so happy, and then it all went pear-shaped.”

  “Because of the whole knew-about-David-cheating thing?”

  “How can I forgive him for that? I thought we were friends, even then.”

  “But you showed your loyalty to David.”

  “By marrying him?”

  June rolls her eyes. “Um, yes by marrying him. Can’t you see that from Carter’s perspective?”

  “It still doesn’t give him any right. Besides, what happened to siding with your BFF?”

  “I just want what’s best for you.”

  “And you think it’s Carter? Let’s be honest, June. He’s an ex-criminal, with a record, no money, a tiny cabin…”

  “You’re sounding like your father, like their father.”

  I do, and suddenly I’m terrified.

  “Do you love him?”

  I’m completely still, watching the tea leaves float around and rearrange on the surface of the water. “Yes. I think I always have.”

  June throws her hands up. “So what’s the god damn problem? Here is your chance at happiness, at hitting the restart button. Screw what anyone else says. Screw the media and the papers and your playboy father. This is your life. You get to decide how you live it.”

  Damn her for speaking so much sense.

  “And he’s got a giant cock, right?” She smiles, standing and walking over to the pantry. She withdraws a lengthy cucumber. “Am I right?”

  I spread my hands apart, trying not to smile myself.

  “Jesus,” June exclaims. “Is that supposed to be a penis or a python?”

  “It’s not all about the sex, you know.”

  “But it sure as hell doesn’t hurt, and yes, he didn’t tell you about the cheating, but have you considered he was trying to protect David too, out of some misguided brotherly loyalty? Maybe he thought you were better off not knowing?”

  “Now you’re grasping at straws.”

  “Because I know you guys are meant to be together, that your wedding—probably more vintage store than Vera Wang now—is going to be kick-ass, that you could make the world’s cutest kids, but none of that’s going to happen until you cut him, and yourself, a bit of slack here. Why are you dwelling in the past?”

  “I don’t know, June. Maybe I just need some time.”

  “Well, like I said, you can stay here as long as you want. Just don’t expect room service… unless by room service you mean being cunt-punched by my offspring at 5am when they inevitably decide to break into your room.”

  “They’re adorable, you know. You’re very lucky.”

  “I am.” She smiles. “And if my husband can ever find my g-spot, I’ll have everything I ever need, but until then, I’m living vicariously through you. Don’t. Let. Me. Down.”

  I go to bed thinking hard, running over June’s thoughts and my own. Outside, the city bustles, even double glazing unable to keep away the endless string of sirens. I can’t believe it, but I’m actually missing the cabin, missing…

  Him.

  It’s too much to take in right now. I’ll sleep on it and regroup in the morning.

  *

  The aforementioned invas
ion takes place at 4:30am, the twins too excited to allow me sweet, blissful solace—not that I mind. By sun up we’ve been through every damn dinosaur species in existence.

  I’m saved by Tim, who sweeps the boys away to get ready for school.

  I head downstairs yawning and take a seat at the breakfast table.

  June slides a tray across the table.

  I breathe in. “My god. Are these from…?”

  “Fresh, hot jelly donuts from Orwashers.”

  I take one, savoring the airy parcels of perfection dusted with sugar and filled with the finest fruit preserves NYC has to offer. “Boy, have I missed the food here.”

  “Stay too long and, like me, you’ll wind up twenty pounds worse for it.”

  “You’re far from fat.”

  She reaches into her pocket and slides a piece of paper across the table. “And you’re far from stupid.”

  I take the paper, unfolding it. “What’s this?”

  “An airplane ticket, back to Vancouver.”

  “Why?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “But, I can’t.”

  June’s steely eyes give me no option. “Yes, you can, and yes, you will, so jam down as many donuts as you can. Your flight leaves in three hours.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CARTER

  I look at the tree-line leading into the woods. There’s a certain silence beyond it I’ve always found peaceful, a muted hollow where even a twig snapping suddenly booms within it.

  I see headlights cutting through the trees.

  Fuck. Not again.

  I grab the shotgun and head out onto the porch. This time those fuckers are going to get a warning shot.

  The car stops, a door opening.

  I can’t see who emerges the lights are beaming at me so hard, until I hear a voice.

  “Carter, wait!” it says—female.

  Her.

  Wren.

  I lower the shotgun.

  She ducks back into the cab before closing the door, the cab turning to drive away.

  She approaches, lugging a suitcase behind her.

  That’s a good sign.