by Ashley Logan
Smiling, he sighs softly. "It's beautiful that you're not even capable of seeing the most obvious flaws," he replies, propping his face with his hand as he watches me.
Pushing my glasses firmly up my nose, I finish my mouthful. "Are you talking about you?"
"No. I'm perfect."
Snorting, I scoop up some more pasta. "You going to eat with me, Mr. Perfect? Or do you plan on making my break a self-conscious experience?"
Taking his fork, Brad swirls it through his meal, barely seeming to notice it.
"Are you nervous or something? You seem out of sorts."
Avoiding my eyes, Brad takes a small mouthful of pasta and chews it slowly.
"Okay. Something is definitely up. What is it?"
He just shakes his head.
"Do I have something in my teeth?" I ask, baring them to him with a half-chewed mouthful of lasagna.
With a smitten sigh, Brad rests his dimpled chin in his palms. "You're heavenly."
Laughing, he sets his fork down again and sighs for real. "I..."
Shaking his head, he picks his fork up again. "How was Ry's first week of Kindergarten? I've been trying not to ask since the first day, but I can't wait until tomorrow when he'll tell me about it."
Smiling at Brad's genuine curiosity, I wait until I've finished my mouthful.
"He's loving it. I thought he'd be a bit clingy, but his 'man-lessons' from you have got him all confident. He has made an unfortunate friend though - some know-it-all kid called Katie Weinstien that has a fucking theory on every aspect of life. It has not been much fun hearing that shit applied by my son." Shaking my head, I shrug. "I'm pretty sure he's already coming down with something too. Sharing a classroom with a bunch of snot-nosed kids had to happen sometime, but it's a breeding ground for germs. Kids are gross."
"You say that as if you don't like them," Brad says, his forehead wrinkling a little.
Chewing slowly, I rest my fork and take several deep gulps of my juice. "I like my kid," I inform him. "You say that as if you do like kids."
"I do like kids," he says quietly. "We'll I've always wanted kids," he corrects, twisting his glass in a circle. "I've never really liked other people's kids either, if I'm honest. I like yours though. I remember thinking that was odd when I met him." Rubbing the back of his neck, Brad views the other people in the cafeteria. "I still don't really know why he'd wanted to talk to me, but I know why I didn't mind talking back. He made me smile, was covered in paint, and smelled like cookies. I didn't mind him at all. He made me hungry for cookies actually." Putting his fork on his plate he pushes it away. "I could go for some cookies right now. You mind if I skip to dessert?" he asks, looking up and meeting my eyes.
I shake my head.
"Thanks. I've eaten enough hospital food to last me a lifetime."
"Fair enough." Scraping up the last of my lasagna, I shift my plate aside too, eying up the tub of ice cream he's produced from a cooler bag by his side. He sets a spoon in front of me and removes the lid.
"So what did you get up to today?" I ask, digging in.
"Finished that mural we were working on. The river one. Started mapping out the next one. One floor up. It's a seaside rock-pool. Should be fun," he says, without pausing for me to ask about it. "There's been quite a bit of interest and we've added another commissioned piece to the list. It's for the Rec Center. Business is booming."
"That's great."
"Yeah."
I wipe my mouth after some ice-cream. "You don't sound very excited about it."
Brad looks up. "I am," he says, truthfully. "It's good. Really good." Rubbing his head, he sweeps some of his hair back into place and takes a deep breath. "I also went looking at rental properties," he adds, the tension showing in his shoulders. "I found a place not too far from Jackson and Shermansky's neighborhood. It's actually not too far from here either," he adds quietly.
Still trying to figure out why he's acting weird, I take a guess. "What does your mom think about it?"
"She both loves and hates that I'm thinking about moving out, but she's okay with it. She was... We were actually wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner one night. With Ry of course."
The usual sense of dread that accompanies the idea of mothers begins to fill me from the pit of my stomach and I hope my lasagna doesn't try to climb back out.
"That's a really nice offer..."
"Babe, you've gone all pale. Is it the 'mom' thing? She's not evil, I swear. She's actually very sweet."
Nodding, I take a drink. "I know she must be, considering how you are. Rationally, I understand that, but I'm kind of irrational when it comes to mothers. I don't think I can do it. Not yet. Please don't hate me."
Reaching across the table, Brad takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. "Not possible. Don't worry about it." Watching me a while, he rubs my knuckles with his thumb and sets my hand back onto the table. His jaw clenches a little as he runs a hand over his face.
"Stace, I'm not trying to push you into anything. I don't want to rush you, or make you feel pressured. I don't have any expectations of you that haven't already been exceeded by far. I just want you to know where I'm at. Would that be okay?"
"Um sure. Is that why you're acting weird?"
"Yeah." Rubbing his face with both hands now, he leans back in his chair and exhales slowly. "I just keep thinking about that bird in a cage thing you said, so I'm not feeling super confident about what I want to say, but if I don't say it, I won't know. So I'm going to sack up and just say that the apartment I found... It has three bedrooms. If you and Ry would like to use a couple at any time, you'd be welcome to. Or you could bunk with me. I definitely wouldn't kick you out of bed," he says, looking at me and trying to put on a brave smile.
While most of me is responding to those words with an eagerness I've become very familiar with when it comes to Brad, part of me feels the walls closing in. My chest feels tighter and I can't bring myself to look him in the eyes.
"I mean, your car is back on the road and Ry's started school, so if you want to get out of your mom's place, it's an option. Just an option. You don't have to take it."
Setting my spoon back on the table, I check my fob watch. Too early to run without being rude.
"Have you um, signed a lease or anything?" I ask, breathing too quickly.
"No," he says, staring at me. "You know what? Forget I mentioned it. I thought I might help, but I can see I've done the opposite." Taking a large sip of his juice in a way that shows he wishes it were something stronger, he shrugs. "Stay with your mom. It works."
"It doesn't work," I argue, shaking my head. It's starting to hurt. My thoughts are rushing and I want them to stop.
"Then what are you doing Stace? You want me to help you find a place of your own? I can. I was looking for me and wanted something spacious. I need a lot of space, but I've seen several this week that I'm sure would work for you. I'll give you the number of the agent I'm dealing with. She can let you know what she has."
Frowning, I shake my head. "I can do that myself, Brad. I don't need you trying to run my life."
"I'm not trying to run your life. I'm trying to find a way to be with you, but you won't let me."
"I can't when you're throwing me off balance. I don't want to rely on you." The words fly out of my mouth and I immediately know that they're the words I've been denying these last few weeks.
Brad can hear the ring of truth in them too.
"Why because I'm unstable?" he asks, rushing to pack things back into his cooler back. "I'm not capable?" Downing the last of his juice and mine, he carefully puts the clinking glasses into the bag too. "How would we ever know? You make all the decisions and have all the control. That way you know you're independent and truly free." Brad stops suddenly and looks at me. "That's it, isn't it? You don't want to need anyone. You want to be free. Of all of us."
He doesn't wait for me to answer before pushing away from the table. A wounded expression deeply ingrained on h
is face, Brad pauses a moment. Hanging his head, he takes a deep breath before turning to face me again.
"I'll understand if you say no, but would you mind if I kept painting with Ryan Fridays?"
"Brad please, you're not giving me a chance to explain," I plead as my throat begins to tighten with emotion.
"You don't need to explain," he says, his features softening as his eyes travel my face. "I get it. Loud and clear. It's okay," he says, wheeling a little closer as his soothing voice makes me feel even worse. "You seem pretty sure that I'm not who you need," he says with a shrug.
I can see his eyes taking on a sheen through my own tears.
"I'm not really what anyone needs," he continues. "I'm kind of this purposeless thing that lives on the fringes. I know the address by heart and I know I'll live there forever. I've come to terms with it. Every now and then I get a glimpse of somewhere else that's pretty nice, but I know it's temporary, Stace."
Looking at his lap for a moment, he meets my eyes again. The disappointment in his face has been replaced by something else. Not acceptance exactly, but similar. No. Stronger. Determination maybe?
"I understand that I've over-stepped a boundary, and that I've damaged whatever it is that we have," he says carefully, as if measuring his words. "But I would really appreciate it if I could still do painting with Ryan. It's come to mean a lot to the both of us, and I don't want him to feel as though I'm letting him down. If there's any way we can keep going with it, I'd be really grateful, even if your mom has to keep babysitting us both. She makes really nice cookies, so it's not such a bad thing."
Laughing a little, despite my tears, I shake my head. "I can't believe you're doing this to me at work."
Rolling closer, he takes my hand. "I'm not doing anything to you Stace. I'll be around if you need me. I'll keep trying to show you that I can be reliable. Maybe someday you'll see it. Okay?" His kisses the back of my hand while I nudge my glasses up to mop my eyes.
"It's not okay. I just slapped you with a terrible glimpse of my tormented internal bullshit. Why are you being so nice to me?"
His thumb brushes over my knuckles as he looks up at me. "Because you need me to. I know all about internal bullshit, believe me."
"Well isn't this a sight?" Sodermann says, walking up to stand next to me as he glares at Brad. His staff security card dangles from his pocket, proclaiming his status and his right to be present. "Beauty and the Beast. I'm reasonably certain that you need to be a precise amount of yards away from me, Jenkins. One hundred was it? I know you're literally incapable of pacing them out yourself, but I believe somewhere far away from here will do," he says, laughing at his own joke as he waves Brad off as if shooing away a bug.
Brad lets go of my hand.
"I was just leaving," he says, staring at Sodermann a moment before he runs an assessing eye over me. "Want me to escort you back to work before I go Stace?"
Brushing aside a tickling hair, I sniff as I nod. "Yes please."
Gesturing for me to go ahead, Brad glares at Sodermann as he slowly wheels by.
Cringing as Sodermann calls after us, I quicken my pace.
"We'll talk later, Anastacia! I think we have new and exciting things to discuss!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BRAD
I catch up to her at the elevator.
"He can't do anything, Stace. You're a great mom and he doesn't have anything concrete on you about anything. You don't have to let him make you feel like this."
"I'm fine."
And just like that, she shuts me out completely. Her posture becomes rigid with her impenetrable armor, leaving me to wonder why I get this treatment when Sodermann is the one scaring her.
Not that I want her to be scared of me.
Maybe it's a good sign.
I hope like hell I'm doing the right thing by her. I'm going to need some serious beer discussions with the boys tonight.
Despite her silence and her lack of acknowledgment of my presence, I accompany her back to her ward, rolling to a stop at the desk as she continues beyond it. Watching her a moment, I sigh and turn to leave, catching Marty's interest as he comes out of a room down the hall.
"Hey, Brad. I didn't know you were coming for dinner," he says loudly, in case Stace can hear.
"It's cool, dude. She doesn't know I was organizing her mealtime with you. Not that it mattered."
"No! What? She was in a great mood when she left."
"Yeah, I kind of ruined that. Too much, too soon and now I'm out on the curb. Guess I can't give you any more pointers; sorry."
"Oh man! I was just going to say I didn't need any more pointers - Astri said yes to a date with me!"
Shaking his hand in congratulations, I smile. "That's great man. Well done."
"Yeah, well, I took your advice and got the win!"
"What advice?" Stace asks, coming to stand next to Marty, a pile of charts clutched to her chest.
I wish I had something to hide behind like those charts. I'm pretty sure the ache in my chest is visible to anyone who might pass by. I've got to get away from her so I can breathe again.
"Nothing. It doesn't matter. Marty succeeded because he's a charming, handsome fellow. I had nothing to do with it. Goodnight, Stace."
Rolling backwards in a hurry, I spin around and make for the elevators.
As soon as my back is turned, I hear Marty tell her as clear as day. So clearly in fact, that he might actually be saying it to me.
"Just be yourself and don't give up!"
He needn't have bothered for my benefit. I'm not giving up on anything.
In the elevator, I pull out my phone.
"Go for Damon."
"Dude. You're like your own fucking cheer squad. Jackson with you? Or nearby?"
There is a muffled pause and I hear Jackson call me something from across a room.
"Near enough," Damon replies through quiet laughter.
Growling into the phone, I run a hand through my hair. "I fucking hate speaker-phone and only make allowances for your amputee-ass. Jackson get your shoes on and help Damon with his. We're going for beer."
Damon sighs. "What is it now? Naughty nurse got you into trouble?"
"Something like that."
Damon sighs. "You hit someone didn't you? You need bail money?"
"No. Fuck you. I hit one doctor, one time, a hundred years ago and I'm a criminal for life! Honestly I just need to talk through some shit."
"Why exactly?" he asks suspiciously.
"Because I'm pretty sure I just let Stace think she broke up with me."
"You what?" Damon cries above the noise of furniture scraping in background. "I don't even know how to start to understand that statement."
"Neither. That's why I need to talk. Where you want to go? Yours?"
"Yeah, let's do mine. We might need the privacy when you start balling your fucking eyes out."
Frowning, I shake my hand. "I don't know man. I think this might be a good thing. Maybe. I haven't figured it out yet. See you soon."
Cutting him off before he can ask more shit that I don't know how to respond to, I wheel out of the hospital and head for my car.
Both Shermansky and Jackson are waiting in his front doorway when I pull up to the curb. Getting my chair sorted in probably the fastest time yet, I roll to meet them.
"Just so you know, you're acting insane. Dumbass."
"Nice to see you too, sweet-cheeks," I reply, intentionally rolling over Damon's foot as I enter his apartment.
"I should have seen that coming," he says, laughing as he hops around.
Laughing too, Bruno shuts the door and points me towards the couch.
"You want me to lie on the couch? It's not a fucking therapy session."
Raising an eyebrow, Bruno sighs and heads for the fridge. "Sit wherever the fuck you want, lazy-legs. It's your show. I just wanted to be comfortable."
"We all know this conversation won't be comfortable. It's going to suck ass if Sherma
nsky tells me I've royally cocked up after he analyzes all the information. I will be pissed off at myself and I will end up in a puddle of beer and tears on the floor. Now bring over the beer you have so helpfully stolen from fuck-stick's fridge and lay it on me."
"Just make sure you get all the information out before you get too pissed," Damon warns, taking one of the offered beers for himself. "I hate cliffhanger stories and I will kick you until you wake up and tell me the rest."
"You'd kick a cripple with a broken leg? That's harsh, dude. I'm like a double cripple right now with this thing. That makes you twice the douche for threatening to kick my ass."
"Man you talk a lot of shit," Damon says, grinning at me. "You're so full of shit you don't even know how bad your breath stinks."
"Okay, seriously. Do I have a breath problem, or is this whole turd-breath thing just one of those things we do?" I ask breathing into my hand to check. "I'm okay right? Don't tell me Stace is freaking because it's a breath thing, or I've played my cards all wrong."
Knocking the back of my head with his elbow as he sits down at the table, Damon shakes his head. "You smell like fucking roses. What the fuck did you do today?"
"Organized a surprise romantic dinner to align with Stace's meal-break while she was at work."
"That sounds... nice?" Bruno asks hesitantly. "Girls like romantic shit, right?"
Shrugging, I take another sip of my beer. "Stace doesn't believe in romance."
Damon stares at me flatly. "What does that even mean?"
"It means she doesn't care to add hearts and candles to shit, and that she doesn't believe in happy ever afters. She's a fairytale no-fly zone. As in, they aren't going to fly with her. Period. Her mom's got her all messed up; her dad left when she was young; she has a kid to an asshole, from a reckless decision she'll never forgive herself for, and to all intents and purposes, she's living a joyless life."
"Because you're in it?" Damon asks, smiling sweetly at me when I meet him with a hard glare.
"Actually I think I made it better, but that might be part of the problem. I think I gave her a taste of what life could be like and now she's scared."
