by Wild, Cassie
The lights in the small apartment were off, so the light from the hallway hit my retinas with blow-like intensity. It took a few seconds for me to bring the face of the woman at the door into focus.
Melia gave me a dirty look as she scanned me over from head to toe. “You smell like you fell into a beer vat,” she said.
She’d been pissed off at me since I’d last brushed her off. I had some vague recollection of her coming to my door last night and trying to kiss me. I was pretty sure I’d rather strongly discouraged her advance, which might account for the look she was giving me.
“Thanks for your unasked-for opinion, honey,” I said. My tongue was as dry and thick as a wad of cotton. “Did you come up here to tell me that?”
She sniffed. “Jerrel wants you downstairs. He said, and I quote, ‘if he doesn’t get his ass down here, I’m dragging him out of the bed.’”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” I said. I slammed the door shut and leaned back against it. Vaguely, I wondered what time it was. Although the curtains were drawn, light penetrated around the edges, and it was bright, so I figured it was pretty late.
Swearing, I shoved away from the door and looked around for my phone. I finally found it on the floor by the TV. And fuck it all, the damned screen was cracked. There was also a beer can laying on its side, most of the contents spilled out onto the floor. It had started to dry, and my phone was sticky with it. Fortunately, it powered on, and I was able to clean it. The screen was an absolute mess, but I was able to see the time, and I had to groan.
It was almost noon.
I was supposed to be behind the counter from eleven to five for the next three days. The hours I was expected to put in at my ‘job’ downstairs had first seemed a pain in the ass, but for the past few days, I’d welcomed the task as a distraction. Of course, after Briar showed up at the shop yesterday, not much served as a good enough distraction, which was why I’d decided to drown myself in alcohol last night.
I managed to drag myself into the bathroom, showering under a tepid spray that did little to chase the cobwebs from my mind. I debated about whether or not I should make myself some coffee and decided it would be worth the time, even if it did make me even later. The coffee they had in the shop was shit. I needed the caffeine, not a hole in my stomach lining.
Roughly twenty minutes after Melia had started banging on my door, I walked into the shop.
Jerrel sat slumped behind the counter, and when he saw me, his face tightened into a scowl. “About fuckin’ time you showed up,” he snapped. He shoved upright and stormed in my direction. I caught sight of the bruise on his cheek and felt a brush of self-satisfaction.
The two of us hadn’t ever been friendly, but the look he gave me now was full of apathy and acute dislike.
Damn, my feelings were all hurt.
He jabbed a finger at me. “You forget what you’re supposed to be doing here?”
“Yeah, well, I keep trying, but I’m not having much luck.”
His face twisted, mouth opening in a sneer.
His phone rang, cutting off his reply. He yanked the phone from his pocket and eyed the screen, then looked back at me. “You better stop fucking around with this shit, MacTavish,” he said, then turned away, stomping through the rear door and down the hallway that led to the alley out back.
“You’re just making all kinds of friends,” Melia said, smiling at me with pseudo-sweetness.
“It’s what I’m good at.” I dropped down on the stool and took a sip of coffee that left my tongue scalded. I ignored the small pain and took another drink, letting the caffeine flood my system.
Melia said something else, but I tuned her out of my mind and started to dig around in the junk box under the counter, hoping to find something to help with my headache.
A bell jangled over the door, and I looked up to see Briar’s friend standing there, fiddling with the strap on her purse. She was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and her eyes were dark with apprehension.
“Anneke,” I said, straightening on the stool.
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. That right there should have warned me. I’d already figured her for a shy, non-confrontational sort. I knew her type. Shy, non-confrontational types didn’t confront people unless they were pushed—hard.
I was a little slow on the uptake today. I blamed the hangover.
“Was there a reason you were such an asshole to Briar yesterday?” she asked, the words coming out in a rush, like she had to get them out before she changed her mind.
Melia approached, her voice simpering as she asked, “Aw, did the pretty doctor get her feelings hurt?”
“Melia, stay out of this,” I said without looking away from Anneke.
“Hey, I was just—”
I turned a dark look at her. She must have seen something in my face because she paled and lapsed into silence before turning on her heel and hurrying back to her little section of the tattoo parlor.
Shifting my attention back to Anneke, I wracked my brain for a response but came up empty.
“She just wanted to say hi,” Anneke said, sounding more confident now. “There was no reason to be a dick.”
“You’re right.”
“I mean, I get that people aren’t supposed to socialize…” She stopped, staring at me. “Wait. Did you just say I was right?”
“Yeah.” I scraped my nails down the rough stubble darkening my face. I hadn’t wasted time trying to shave before I came down and it rasped under my fingers. “You’re right. There was no reason to be a dick.”
“Well…” Anneke looked nonplussed but finally gave a short nod. “Good. You should do something about it.”
Yeah. I should. But the question was…what?
Twenty-Two
Briar
I didn’t know what woke me, the sounds coming from the kitchen…or the grumbling coming from my stomach.
Or maybe it was the scents…food and coffee?
After a few more seconds, I decided it was the food.
Tired as I was, I’d walk over hot coals for coffee and bacon, especially if I didn’t have to cook or make either.
Slowly, I sat up, looking around in confusion. My neck was killing me. The taste in my mouth was awful. I had only the vaguest recollection of sitting down on the couch when I got home, thinking I’d rest for a few minutes, then eat something.
Clearly, I’d done a little more than rest.
Squinting at the big, decorative clock on the wall, I noted the time. It was one o’clock. I’d gotten home a little after seven, so I’d gotten a little over five hours of sleep.
It hadn’t been enough, but I wasn’t about to ignore the beguiling scent of bacon wafting through the house.
I shoved upright and groaned, rubbing the back of my neck. Every bone, every muscle in my body seemed to hurt, and I doubted it was entirely because I’d fallen asleep on my couch. The shift from hell had leveled me so completely, I felt like I’d been run over by a dump truck, then had my remains scooped up with a snow plow for some Frankenstein wanna-be to piece back together.
At the doorway to the kitchen, I caught sight of my bacon-and-coffee-making intruder.
Trudging past Brooks, who stood at the stove flipping over the bacon, I said, “I think it’s going to take every drop of coffee in that pot for me to be coherent.”
“Huh?” Brooks cupped a hand over his ear. “Did you say something or were you just babbling?”
“Ha, ha. Smart ass.” I rolled my eyes, which did not help my headache. There were already two cups on the counter, so I grabbed one and filled it up to the top. I didn’t bother doctoring it with cream and sugar for the first few sips. It was hot, black, and strong, and I needed it too much to wait.
“Hell, you must really be jonesing for some caffeine if you’re drinking it without boatloads of sugar.”
I made a face, but since I wasn’t looking at him, he didn’t see it. After two more sips, I took care of the cream
and sugar, then turned toward my brother. “So, just why exactly are you here making coffee and breakfast?”
“You didn’t answer my calls or my texts.” He shrugged, keeping his face averted. He was a study in casualness, but I wasn’t fooled. “I just wanted to drop by and make sure everything was okay.”
“I did text you,” I pointed out.
He shrugged. “Yeah, hours after I started trying to reach you.”
“You heard about the big pile-up on I-95?”
He flicked a look at me. “Yeah. Daria and I sat trapped in the gridlock for almost two hours.” His mouth folded into a frown. “That was the accident you were referring to in your message.”
“My hospital was the closest to the scene. We got flooded with the worst of the injuries.” I leaned back against the counter and looked down at the wrinkled scrubs. I’d had to change into fresh scrubs during my shift, so the ones I wore were more or less clean—no obvious stains, at least. The pair I’d started out wearing would end up in a biohazardous waste bin. “As you must have noticed, I got home and dropped.”
“I heard that a couple of people have already died,” he said, eyes compassionate.
“Yeah.” My throat went tight. One of them was a baby who hadn’t been secured in a car seat. One of my colleagues had been forced to sedate the mom. One stupid mistake and a life was over, while others were ruined. While I had more than my fair share of anger toward the young mom, I couldn’t help but feel some sympathy. A stupid mistake shouldn’t cost a parent the life of their child—and no child should ever pay for the mistakes made by their parents with their own lives.
Brooks left the counter and came over to me.
I held up my hands in a staying gesture. “I wore these scrubs half my shift. You don’t want to hug me right now.”
“The hell I don’t,” he said as he ignored me and wrapped me up in his arms.
Tears stung my eyes. The past few days had sucked. My nerves and emotions were raw. My throat had already gone tight too. If I didn’t get some space, I was going to break down and cry all over my big brother. As I eased away from him, I couldn’t fight a sniffle. Somehow, though, I managed a watery smile. “Have I got time for a quick shower?”
“Yeah.” He tugged my hair, a gesture reminiscent of when we were younger. “I held off starting the eggs. Knew the bacon and coffee would wake you soon enough, but reheated eggs are gross.”
“Agreed.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
* * *
Dressed in a faded t-shirt and my favorite yoga pants, I felt a little more awake as I rejoined my brother in the kitchen.
He caught sight of me as he expertly flipped an omelet.
“Show-off,” I said. I’d never been able to do that without the eggy mess falling onto the stove…or the floor.
“If you got it, flaunt it, sweetheart.” He grinned at me.
It was a lighthearted, engaging grin that made him look younger than he was.
He smiled more now that he had Daria in his life.
I hated the envy I felt curling inside me. I didn’t resent his happiness, but I wanted something like it for myself. My thoughts drifted toward Cormac, and I immediately shoved them to the back of my mind. If I could block them out completely, I would.
“You okay?”
At the soft sound of Brooks’ voice, I looked up and nodded. “Just worn out.”
The words tried to stick in my throat and came out husky and rough.
Brooks noticed, and I thought he’d say something, but after a long study, he just nodded and turned back to finish the food.
I set the retro, café-styled table and went to the fridge to see what else I had to drink. I grabbed the orange juice and made a valiant, successful effort to ignore the champagne. I wasn’t in a celebratory mood, but mimosas went down easy at any time.
Still, I had too much to do today to indulge in an epic, marathon drinking session brought on by exhaustion and self-pity.
By the time I’d poured both of us a glass of juice, along with coffee for Brooks, he was setting two plates down on the table.
We sat down together, and I inhaled. There was just something about the scent of bacon.
I dug into the food, so hungry that Brooks got up from his seat and went to the stove to retrieve the rest of the bacon. As he put it down in front of me, he asked, “Should I make another omelet?”
“No.” I swallowed the food in my mouth. “I think after I eat the other half of the pig you fried, I’ll be good.”
“That’s such a…charming mental image. It’s a good thing I’m not considering going vegetarian.” He grinned at me. “That would do it.”
“You’d never survive as a vegetarian. You love your cheesesteaks and chicken wings too much.”
“Good point.” He jabbed a fork in my direction before cutting off another bite of omelet.
The rest of the meal passed in almost complete silence. Exhaustion continued to weigh down on my shoulders, but it was overlaid with a thin veneer of false alertness, courtesy of my beloved friend, caffeine.
I don’t know if the meal or my worn-out state lulled me into complacency, but as we stood at the sink, rinsing off the dirty dishes side by side, Brooks managed to blindside me.
“You ever going to tell me what’s going on with you?”
Startled, I swung my head around to stare at him. “What?”
“You heard me.” He shrugged, eyes on the task in front of him. There was a faint flush on his cheeks, letting me know he wasn’t entirely comfortable talking about something as mushy as feelings, but the stubborn set to his jaw made it clear he wasn’t about to just let it go.
I wracked my brain, trying to think of something I could say that would either distract him or convince him I was doing just fine.
But to my horror, I found myself blurting out the truth. “I met somebody.”
Brooks turned a surprised gaze my way. For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the water running in the sink. I managed to snap out of it and reached out to turn the water off.
Then I turned away from the sink and crossed my arms over my chest.
“I was stupid,” I said softly. “That’s just all there was to it.”
“You’ve never been stupid a day in your life, Briar,” Brooks said, his voice gentle.
I laughed, so disgusted with myself—over any number of things. “That’s what you think.”
Pacing a few steps away, I dropped down onto one of the café-styled stools and looked at my brother.
“He hurt me, Brooks.”
Something flashed in his eyes, and he took a step toward me, threat emanating from him. “How?”
“Not like you’re thinking,” I said, my cheeks flushing almost painfully. “I liked him…” I had to stop for a second because I couldn’t entirely convince myself that using the past tense wasn’t a lie. I still had feelings for him, that much was clear.
I rubbed my temples as my headache pounded its way back in, vying for dominance.
Something scraped across the floor, and I looked up as Brooks finished dragging the other chair over until it was next to mine. It creaked as Brooks lowered his not-inconsiderable frame onto it.
“I figure we can do this one of two ways,” he said finally.
I shot him a look.
“You can either tell me about it, or you can tell me his name, and I’ll go beat his ass into the pavement.”
Under most circumstances, I might have laughed. Not because it was false bravado, but because it was such a…Brooks thing to say.
But the misery inside me couldn’t find even a speck of humor in his words.
“Maybe you should just listen,” I said, the words coming out more strangled than I would have liked. “I could probably use a shoulder.”
His arm came around me, and as he tugged me in closer, I closed my eyes against the threat of tears. “Okay, kid. You just tell me all about it.”
And I
did.
Twenty-Three
Cormac
I woke with a headache.
Not just a mild, uncomfortable sensation, but one that felt like I had a complete orchestra—a bad one—playing away merrily inside my skull.
Groaning, I rolled onto my belly and shoved my face into the cushions of the couch.
I’d told myself I wasn’t going to get drunk again last night.
But as two o’clock edged around, my sense of resolve weakened, and I found myself eying my phone, scrolling through my messages and recent calls, hoping I’d see a response from Briar.
There hadn’t been one.
I’d texted her a half-dozen times, and she hadn’t responded even once.
When I wasn’t feeling like complete shit, I tried to convince myself it was better that she wasn’t talking to me.
I didn’t need to get tangled up with her—again—and I knew it.
But for the most part, complete shit described my current state of mind, which was usually a little past half-way drunk and all the way over the line into self-pity territory.
I hadn’t had any reason to treat her like that.
Hell, from the get-go, I’d been treating her like shit. First, I was using her, then I treated her no different than I’d treat an annoying fly. Then, I had the audacity to actually feel hurt when she wouldn’t talk to me.
“Get over it,” I mumbled into the cushions. They smelled of stale smoke and sour body odor. I figured it was a just punishment.
I could only handle so much of it, though. Otherwise, I risked vomiting and gagging on the bile. That was all that could possibly be in my stomach at this point. Well, other than the vats of alcohol I’d been pouring into my body. I hadn’t been able to eat worth shit, and I knew I needed to fix that. My body, like any machine, needed fuel and could only function so long on the empty calories provided by alcohol.
With a sigh, I sat up.
The reverberating clash and clang inside my skull had me rethinking the action, but I didn’t lay back down.
