Stealing Home

by Harlow Cole

  “When he gets back, he’ll have a way to fix all this,” she said defensively.

  So, her faith wasn’t completely broken.

  She believed in white knights.

  How would she feel about one dressed in sheep’s clothes?

  I was pretty shit at this slow and patient thing. I wanted to dive right in. Wanted to walk around the desk and pull her into my arms and plow my hands into all that hair and make her remember those happier times.

  Instead, I closed the distance between us and perched on the edge of the desk, fingering a stack of envelopes that all looked like bad news.

  “Ash, change your mind. Let me help you.” I held up a bill with a red stamp that clearly said Final Notice. “I can make this all go away. All of it. I can take all of this off your plate.”

  Her eyes turned cold. Her posture straightened as her back grew rigid in response to my words. “Don’t you dare come in here and try to throw your money at me. My father didn’t want it then, and I’m not taking it now. Nothing in the world could make me that desperate, Brayden.” Her tone grew angrier with every word. “Look, I don’t know why you’ve suddenly appeared here like the Ghost of Christmas Past, but let’s get one thing straight. I don’t need or want your pity, or your charity.”

  “So, you’re just gonna let some stupid sense of pride—” I hadn’t meant to raise my voice, but my frustration leaked through. I took a breath. “Lots of businesses take on investors when they’re in trouble. I could be a silent partner if you won’t accept it as a gift.”

  “A gift or a bribe? What is this? Some kind of twelve-step program where you come to buy your way out of guilt? Is that why you’re really here? Some kinda hometown tour to earn absolution?” Green eyes cut into me. “Besides, my pride has nothing to do with it. He would never forgive me. If he even knew you were sitting here, talking to me, right now . . .” She shook her head. Fingertips grazed across her worried forehead.

  Her words gouged deep into wounded places I’d learned to keep covered. She wouldn’t take my help because she didn’t want to hurt her brother.

  Her brother, who rightfully hated my guts.

  Her brother, who I fucking stole everything from with my own selfish weakness.

  Dillan thought Nathan would be the one standing in my way, but clearly, he was wrong. I had to get through Ashley’s anger before I would even have a chance to get to her brother.

  I dealt in things that moved ninety-plus miles per hour. Slow-moving targets fucked with my head. But chipping away at her resentment couldn’t happen fast.

  I wanted to tell her the whole truth. I should have. She’d given me an opening. But I knew her pride wouldn’t handle it well, and my uphill climb already felt steep enough.

  Her cell phone interrupted the inner battle waging a war inside me. She cringed as she glanced at the name on the screen and then quickly answered the call.

  “Hey. Different day, same story?” She paused and listened. “Crap. Yes. Yes, I know.” She sighed in frustration. “Okay. Can you hold tight for a few minutes? Logan took off with a group all day, and I have some kids out sailing. They should be coming back in soon. I can’t leave until . . . yeah. Thanks, Emory. Thanks for taking care of him. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  She threw the cell back onto the desktop and blew out a shaky breath.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Did you know, when you’re sad, the corners of your mouth turn down a little? It flattens out your top lip.”

  Her mouth instinctively puckered, fighting off my observation.

  That’s it, baby girl. Nobody knows you like I do.

  “Nathan is over at the Wharf Rat. I need to go get him.” She blew out a quick, frustrated breath.

  I couldn’t help the instinct to check my watch. Yep. A smidge early for happy hour. The people who hung out at the Rat during the day had one objective. Drunk oblivion.

  “Is that place still a grungy shithole? He hang out there a lot?”

  Her top lip flattened again.

  “More than he should. He bums a ride there with some degenerate who has a permanent seat at the bar. Emory runs the place. She keeps my number handy.” A palm ran down one side of her face as she got up and walked to look out the window. “Dillan went and got him last time. I don’t want to bug him again.”

  A group of rough and tumble kids went out in Sunfish boats thirty minutes ago. I’d watched her help them secure life vests and push out into the water. I walked closer, standing behind her, fighting the need to press my chest against her back and wrap my arms around her.

  “Go. I’ll wait for the kids to come back in.”

  Her shoulders rose with added tension.

  “It will be fine. Go take care of your brother. I’ll stay here till you get back or till Logan comes in.”

  She turned and stared up at me, hesitation on her face. I swallowed against the burning need to touch her.

  “I don’t want your—”

  “Jesus, Ash. All I’m gonna do is sit here and wait for some kids, and then help them drag their boats up outta the water. You can’t even accept that?”

  Resignation settled slowly across her features. “Okay. Okay, you’re right.” She dug her purse out from under the desk and was halfway to the door before she turned back around. “Thanks, Brayden,” she added softly.

  I’d spent my whole life fighting for big victories. I’d never realized the small variety could feel so sweet. I nodded in response. It felt more appropriate than the fist-pumping going down in my head.

  After she left, I used my phone to snap a photo of Mrs. F’s master plan. Then, I helped myself to the desk chair. The power bill sat on top of the closest pile. Two months overdue. I started sifting through the papers in front of me. More letters. More cancellation notices. A clusterfuck of red ink.

  She was drowning.

  With no one around to throw her a damn life preserver.

  I could wipe this all away without blinking. Stroke one check and make all these papers and all her worries disappear. She was sitting on a mountain of debt I could work off by throwing six innings. I wouldn’t even have to last till the stretch.

  She would never willingly take it. I’d already known that coming in.

  She’d work two jobs. Face twelve-hour days. And barely tread water. She’d already cashed in all her own dreams. Her pride was the only thing she had left.

  My lies would take that away.

  Right before they slayed her white knight and exploded in my face.

  That very first summer we met, I bought her a new bike basket. It was way bigger than the cheap, white plastic daisy thing she had barely clinging to her handlebars. I picked one with a fancy lid, fashioned to keep her many things from spilling out. I didn’t present it to her. I just cut the old one off and strapped the new one down tight. I thought when she saw it, she would get that glowy little smile that always lit me up inside.

  She did not.

  She showed up the following day with a bag full of quarters and a mouthful of sass, telling me where to stick my benevolence.

  That memory haunted me now as I leaned back in the desk chair and closed my eyes. “I have to find a better way to do this.”

  I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, leaning forward again to regain my focus. A screen saver floated across the darkened computer monitor. Random images spewed up from the hard drive.

  I almost fell off my seat.

  There, in the top corner, was a black-and-white photo from those happiest of times. I could still remember the day Mrs. F took it. It was from a Labor Day party where we claimed childish liberties with cans of whipped cream. We squirted it directly in our mouths and then shot it straight at each other. Three smiling faces. Heads covered in sugary foam. Arms slung around one another’s shoulders.

  I sat, dumbstruck. Tears wedged in my eyes.

  They hadn’t purged all the reminders.

  The faces in tha
t photo stared back at me with proof of the fairy tale.

  Once upon a time, we were a family.

  I had the summer to fix my busted up arm and my busted up past. I stared at those smiles and knew exactly which I would pick to save if I could only choose one.

  I wanted to take away all of Ashley’s troubles and give back her dreams. But slow and steady required baby steps before giant leaps. I couldn’t just tear off the old basket and expect the happy smile.

  That image reminded me of where I had to start. The first thing I had to give her back, was the same thing that photo gifted me.

  A little bit of hope.

  * * *

  I heard the kids before I saw them. Whooping and hollering as they made fun of the last guy struggling to steer his boat back to shore. The first two dudes didn’t need me. They had youth and testosterone on their sides. They tucked their boats up onto the little sandy beach, sails neatly secured.

  Funny, I hadn’t been on one of those things in half a dozen years, but I could still hear Mr. F telling me and Nathan to make sure we’d properly tied down the lines.

  “Ashley had to go run an errand. You guys know where to put your vests and stuff?”

  “Yeah, man, we’re cool.”

  “Hey, Evan!” the second one shouted out to the third kid, still struggling twenty feet off the shore. “Hope you get in sometime today. Last one to Lucky’s is buying.”

  They took off up the grass toward the vest bins stationed beside the dock house.

  I took pity on the last kid. Slipping off my shoes, I waded out to my knees and helped pull him in the last ten feet. Together, we dragged the boat up onto the sand.

  “Nice day for a sail, huh?” I asked, making conversation.

  Sun and exhaustion ripened across his face. He had a scrappiness about him—shaggy midnight-black hair and puppy-dog limbs he hadn’t quite grown into yet. Something about his demeanor reminded me a whole hell of a lot of a kid I used to stare down in the mirror every day.

  “Motherfucking boat is the stupidest piece of crap I’ve ever seen. Those jerk-offs just get how it works. I spent most of the time trying to figure out how to turn around. This is only the third time Miss Foster’s let us go out past the inlet without her. I didn’t want to F it up.”

  He shook his head and started securing the sail all wrong. I took the line from his hands.

  “Here, watch. Like this. Loop this through and pull. Then, loop it through again.” I untied it and handed it back to him, silently watching as he repeated the steps the right way. “Yeah, man. That’s it. You got it.”

  He allowed a small smile.

  “Turning sucks at first. You’ve gotta get used to the idea of doing all the shit backward. How did your friends learn so fast?”

  “They’re not newbs. Lived here their whole lives. I just moved here last fall. Those A-holes I hang with have been sailing with their pops since they were little. I ain’t got a pop. It’s just me and my mom. And I’ve only been sailing for a month. I need more practice, but Miss F says I gotta stick with her or my buddies. I can’t go out alone on account I might capsize and drown myself. But I can’t concentrate with those buttholes yelling and taunting me. I need to stick with lacrosse. I can kick their asses at that.”

  I smirked as he shrugged out of his life vest, revealing a concave chest ribbed with the new muscles of a kid trying to force his way through puberty.

  “Did Miss Foster take off or something?”

  “She had to go do something for her brother.”

  He nodded and pursed his lips as we started walking back up to the dock. “I help her sometimes. Usually, haul all the stuff up to the storage shed at the end of the day. She’s kinda little to do all that shit herself, ya know?”

  “That’s nice of you. I bet she appreciates the help.”

  “Yeah, man. It’s the least I can do. She doesn’t charge me for the rental. She knows I can’t afford that shit. My mama’s a nurse over at the hospital. Already pulling extra shifts to make our life work. Know what I mean? Miss Foster, she’s real cool.”

  “She’s one of the best people I know,” I replied, stealing Dillan’s words as I palmed the bill of my hat and tried to keep my tone light.

  “You guys friends? I’ve never seen you around before.”

  “Old friends. Used to be friends,” I stammered as I squinted and shrugged my shoulders. “Used to be more than friends, actually. I’ve, uh, been gone a while. Had to go on a long trip.”

  My explanation made no fucking sense, but the kid bobbed his head up and down.

  “I feel ya. So, you’re, like . . . tryin’ to be old friends with her again.” He grinned and tipped his chin.

  I cocked my head and chuckled. He couldn’t be more than fourteen.

  I was already hell on wheels at his age.

  “I’m thinking maybe, if I do some stuff to help her out, she’ll let me hang around, too,” I answered simply.

  He nodded and looked back down to the beach where the tubes and kayaks were stacked. “Well, man, let’s quit talkin’ about it and do the work.”

  I didn’t accomplish half as much as he did. It was sort of embarrassing. Fucking left arm. But the conversation kept me highly entertained, and the job went quickly. Some dude came in with a Hatteras Sportfish. I taught Evan how to tie a hitch knot as we helped secure the boat to a slip. Had to pat myself on the back for remembering that shit, too.

  When we were all done, I bought us Cokes from the vending machine. We sat on the edge of the dock, downing them in thirsty man gulps.

  “We make a good team, kid,” I said, holding my can out to bump his.

  “Yeah? Thanks.”

  “My name’s Brayden by the way. We were never formally introduced.”

  He sputtered a mouthful of soda. “Dude, I know who you are. I can’t sail worth shit, but I’m not slow or anything.”

  It was my turn to smile.

  “You’re sort of a badass, you know? And kinda a legend around here. I didn’t wanna say nothin’ on account my mama told me we aren’t supposed to gawk at you or bug you too bad. Folks are sorta hoping you’ll stick around. Think they probably got the idea you might draw more of a crowd. City slickers will wanna catch a glimpse of you. Might bring more business to town or something. God knows, this place could use it.” He gestured around us.

  “Things have been pretty sad around here. Miss Foster . . . she’s been hurting pretty bad, I think. She don’t know I see it, but sometimes, I stop and say goodbye before I leave and catch her cryin’ at her desk. I don’t gawk at that shit neither. People oughta be able to cry over their troubles without an audience.”

  I mulled over his words as I watched the boats on the horizon.

  Out sailing toward happiness.

  That’s what Ash used to say.

  Chasing after dreams that never docked here anymore.

  I glanced around at all the empty slips. The place was haunted by old memories. Three kids laughing and jumping off the end of the dock. The ghost of a mother I’d always secretly wished could be my own.

  Four years ago, my fuckup cast the first stone. It made a ripple, that built into a wave and, eventually, knocked everything off-kilter. Before it, the Fosters had enjoyed a perfect little life.

  The accident marked the start of their ruin.

  Now, every single rotted board heaved up toward me. The worn umbrellas tipped their fingers, pointing in my direction. I’d helped break this place apart. I needed to work faster to put it back together.

  Slow and steady was for bastards with patience. Everyone knew that wasn’t me. Wasn’t my style.

  Evan’s words rattled around in my head.

  Draw more of a crowd.

  “Evan, you might not be the best sailor in the world yet, but you are a motherfucking genius.”

  “I am?”

  “You do social media stuff?”

  “Like Snapchat and Insta? Yeah, I got that shit. Twitter, too. Don’t spend as mu
ch time on it as my girl, but I got a respectable follow list. Why?”

  “How do you feel about selfies?”

  “I mean . . . I don’t usually take ’em with other dudes, but seeing as you’re not regular people . . . I think I could make an exception. My mom thinks you’re hot as shit, so she’d probably be impressed, too.” His head bobbed up and down. “Yeah, man. I’m down with it if you wanna snap with my ugly mug. No filters though. That shit’s straight up for girls.”

  I pulled out my phone and took one of us. Heads pushed together, smiling like fools who’d known each other a lot longer than an hour.

  “What’s your Instagram?” I asked.

  “BigLaxMan22.”

  “Seriously? Big Man? Dude, we need to work on that.” I lightly punched him in the shoulder and then sent him the photo. “Do me a favor. Post that picture to your accounts. Tag me in them, okay? And check in our location. Post something about us hanging out here.”

  “Okay, I can do that.” He shrugged with teenage nonchalance.

  “What are you doing Thursday afternoon? Wanna meet me here and go sailing? Promise, I won’t bust your ass like your friends if you screw up.”

  “Seriously? You yanking my chain, man?”

  “Totally serious. Most of my friends here have either moved away, work all day, or . . . really hate my guts. I need some new friends to get in trouble with. I bet you and I will get into all kinds of trouble out there together.” I pointed out to the water.

  “Holy crap. Yeah, I’m up for that. That would be lit.”

  I held my fist out for him to bump.

  “Is it cool if I go to Lucky’s and kinda rub all this shit in my buddies’ faces?”

  I chuckled. “Go give them some hell. I’ve got some more work to do.”

  His brows furrowed. “I can stay and help if you need another hand.” He glanced back around to see what tasks lay undone.

  “Nope. You go dish up some revenge on your boys. I gotta go do some research.” I cracked my knuckles and added, “Money can’t buy everything, kid. Trust me on that. But I think you just reminded me of a way to score a little happiness and hope.”