A Long Time Coming

by Heather Van Fleet

  Between him and Harley, David had always been the one who wanted out of Hillsdale the most. He was the twin who was supposed to go away to college on a football scholarship—becoming a Husker had always been his dream. He was the twin who had NFL plans someday! But instead, he’s stuck as a gimp for good, wondering what in the hell he was going to do with his life now that his goals were—literally—cut off at the knee now.

  He’d never, ever harbor any hatred towards his sister. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to see her happy! But now, here he was, nothing more than a one-legged, jobless, and futureless lump of crap—a lump of crap who was sure as hell tired of hearing his mother rambling on about feelings. Seriously…how could he talk about his feelings when he didn’t even technically feel anymore?

  “Mom, I’m done with the communication shit. I’m done talking to you today in general. And I’m especially done with your crying and nagging more than anything. I just had to go through two hours of ass crunching therapy and I’m so damn tired that I can’t think straight.” He growled her way, gritting his teeth as he spat out his words. “All I really need right now is for you to stop talking for ten minutes. Tops…” He groaned, shoving his head back against the seat. He threw his forearm over his eyes, letting the silence finally take hold.

  There he went again though, snapping at her, using the cuss words that she once upon a time hated to hear at that. But he tried to warn her that he wasn’t in the mood for her nagging. Like always though, she wouldn’t listen. In fact, she never listened anymore. Always pushing, always crying. She was half of his problem these days.

  He cracked his neck back and forth, blowing out a sigh as he reopened his eyes. With no real object to focus on, he simply just stared out the window. Yeah, he was being a dickhead, but if being a dickhead got the job done, and she actually stopped talking, then he would figure out how to gain forgiveness from her later.

  He leaned over, pressing his now aching temple against the cool glass to ease the pressure building. His skull was slowly setting fire again, and he used the coolness as his personal brand of pain meds and peace—a peace though, that wouldn’t come no matter what the temperature was.

  With the new and sudden quiet in the car, came the emotional ache in his gut. The ache he didn’t welcome, the ache he so despised. The pressure of it all burned flames of misery into his lungs, and unintentionally, like always, his thoughts began to drift back to the past few lonely months.

  Months that had been hell. No…not exactly hell. More like pure, fucking torture. Yeah, that was more like it. The loneliness that had consumed him was endless. God, what he wouldn’t give for at least one friend? It was a good thing he’d been able to get into some last minute classes at Hillsdale Community, because this staying home twenty–four/seven shit was wearing on him. Well, more like eating away at his insides like flesh burning acid, but that was being Harley–dramatic. College was not exactly a goal for him as it once was. It had simply become an idea, a way of hopeful escape. The simplest way he could think of to pass the endless hours of the nothingness that his life had become.

  Who was he kidding though? There was only one person who could ease the pain terrorizing his chest. One simple set of numbers on his phone keypad separated him from hearing the only voice that could set his mind at ease. The sound of her voice would surely relieve the ache. It had always been the cure for whatever ailed him. Her soft giggles, her smart mouth… Jesus, he was a damn mess for her. And then with the sound of her voice echoing in his ears, would come the image of her face, her body, her in general. Beautiful blue eyes, the way her blonde hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders… He inhaled slowly through his nose, remembering her scent; roses or flowers, something sweet, and beyond intoxicating. He knew for certain that he could never get it out of his head if he tried.

  But now, she was completely off–limits after what had happened between the two of them.

  He dug his palms into his eyes, trying to press away the image of her from behind his lids, knowing that she was out of reach and no longer his. Hell though, had she ever been his to begin with? He knew it was an unavoidable task to forget her, because she was the one thing that would make his mundane life bearable again. She was his sister’s best friend—his dream girl. That is, if he even deserved one of those. Abigail Zane was exactly what he needed. She was also exactly what he wanted; what he craved—always, always craved. Unfortunately, he’d jumped off that train a long time ago—abandoned ship, and left the Abigail port without a single wave goodbye. She may have been everything he needed, but she was also everything he’d thrown away.

  His guilt over holding her back from things she deserved most in life would have burdened David until the day he died if they had finished what he knew they both wanted. But Abigail was far too beautiful, talented, loving, and perfect to ever have to suffer through life with a cripple like him.

  David’s eyes whipped open when the car stopped a few minutes later. He gave his head a quick jerk, focusing on the driveway. But that’s also when his gaze found the house that had not only sheltered him as a child growing up, but also stolen his sanity at the same time. God, he didn’t want to go in there. That place had become a prison to him. Nothing more than a place to sleep, eat, and suffer. He hated his house worse than he hated his prosthetic leg, and that was saying something. He sighed, shifting his leg in the seat. The leather stuck to the backside of is thigh, and added to his misery.

  “Listen David, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you today, but you need to know that I’m just as frustrated as you are.”

  His jaw clenched tight; his cheekbones ached something fierce, “What?” He snapped, facing her again. “You’re frustrated with my issues?” He gripped the door handle, whipping it open. “Well I know a way to solve that problem now, Mother,” he reached around, and grabbed his crutches. His hands shook as he braced his weight on them, and stared at her from over his shoulder, “…leave me the hell alone, and don’t even try to understand my frustration, because you have no idea what this is like for me!” He pushed himself upwards, and hopped away, slamming the door shut behind him with the end of one of his crutches. The window was open, and he leaned down, wincing in pain as he focused on her stunned face. “I’m here damn it, I’m alive. That’s all that should matter to you. So if you want to help me get past this shit,” he spat, pointing down at his non–existent leg, “…then stop with the damn crying!”

  He was done, with everything. His life sucked ass, his mother was crazy, and his father was a new absentee who didn’t seem to give a shit what happened with his son. Screw his life! And screw his mother!

  Chapter Two

  “Stupid best friends in love…” Abigail Zane mumbled under her breath, slamming her phone against her lap for the sixth time in the past hour. She threw herself onto her back across the length of her king–sized mattress. Straight–up irritation laced her mood today, and she was not a moody sort of girl.

  Of all the times for Harley, her supposed very best friend in the world, not to answer her phone! Jesus, wasn’t the girl supposed she have a sixth sense for people and their life crisis events? This one was epic, too.

  Most likely though, she was too busy getting busy with that sexy surfer boyfriend of hers to even hear the phone ring. But still, it was the world’s shittiest feeling to be ignored by the one person who she always thought she could count on—the one girl who had been there for her through thick and thin since kindergarten. Usually Abigail could take the pain, the pressure in her hollow chest from missing her best friend so damn badly. But this time wasn’t as easy to deal with as most of the others, especially when she was on the verge of seriously losing her sanity.

  Throwing her arms over her eyes, she stilled, listening for any evidence that said new crisis had left the house. But her mother’s giggles from below were evidence enough that he hadn’t left yet. Groaning, Abigail sat up and began to scroll down the list of contacts in her phone as a distraction. Not that
it would do her any good at all, because the only other name on that contact list that could remotely help her, would either hang up on her immediately, or not answer her call.

  Abigail hadn’t physically spoken to David Anderson, Harley’s twin—the guy who would always inevitably break her heart—in over three months. But the last thing David needed was to hear about her latest family fiasco anyways, so it was better this way. He may have been her dream hottie, but he definitely wouldn’t understand her issues, nor did he need the added drama to his life.

  Nobody would understand, actually.

  She tossed the phone onto the comforter, groaning as she sat up and slipped her feet onto the floor. Moping was her new best friend as she moved towards the huge picture window that faced her backyard. Her attention, like always, was drawn to the unused pool sitting lonely and grungy beneath layers of fungus and grime.

  A sad smile hovered over her quivering lips at the memory of her father dunking her mom’s head into the deep end of the pool. She ran her fingertips down the glass, still picturing her mother’s face contorting into an angry scowl whenever she got a lick of water on her hair. They couldn’t mess up her new color, or God forbid her crappy perm would get soaked. The lady was the straightest stick in the mud. Well, except for today of course. Because what Abigail saw downstairs was anything but straight. Curvy, contorted, and disgusting maybe, but definitely not stick–straight.

  Abigail backed away from the ledge, pressing the palms of her hands over her stomach. It hadn’t stopped churning since she’d left the basement. The sight of her mom all sprawled out on the family’s pool table, screaming in ecstasy, with the hairy ass of a man she knew as Bob the Builder bent over her, was almost blinding to her eyes.

  She moved towards her bed again, unable to keep still for too long, and sat on the edge. She gripped her childhood stuffed teddy bear tightly, tucking it under her chin, suddenly feeling like a prisoner in her own home.

  The guy would leave soon. He had to. Her dad would be home, and her mother wasn’t that stupid to have her lover still here when her hubby came rolling in.

  Well, maybe she was, but still…

  She shook her head as those very scarce days from her past, dissipated once more into her memories. Family time was no more, not that she was surprised or shocked by the fact that her mom and Mr. Construction man were flinging. Abigail knew all about having a different boy toy every other week, they were easy, simple, nothing too complicated or messy. But wasn’t marriage supposed to be different than being nineteen years old and experiencing your life? Weren’t two people who made vows to love, honor and cherish for all their lives, supposed to follow through with it? Harley’s parents did. Hell, half the town of Hillsdale held the forever kind of couples. Nobody she knew seemed to get divorced, which was actually a rarity in this day and age.

  Finally, after what felt like hours of staring off into the space of her pink–walled room, the phone rang. Abigail jumped, falling from her waking nightmare, turning into panic mode as she hunted for her cell that she had only just held minutes before. She blinked, finally spotting it. Flying forward towards the head of her bed, she swiped the answer key without even checking the number. It had to have been Harley. She was the only person who called her these days.

  “O.M.G.! I have been waiting for you for like, ever and a day! Tell me you and sexy surfer boy weren’t humping, because I so don’t want to see that image in my mind!”

  A throat cleared on the other end of the line. A manly throat…a fatherly throat. Shit… “Um, Abigail, I didn’t just hear my daughter ask about humping, did I?”

  She gnawed on her lower lip, clearing her throat as her face burned to a crispy fire–red, “Oh! Hey daddy, how’s it going?” She shut her eyes, and then hairy old man asses—and screaming moans—came to the forefront of her mind. She reopened them widely again, shaking the image from her corrupted brain. Crap! Why did she have to see that again? Now she was so going to have to lie. And lying to her dad was like lying to God—she hated doing it, but it was a necessity she kind of had to face.

  “Well…” he sighed, “things are going fine here. How’s your day been so far?” She slapped her hand over her eyes. Ugh, he would have to ask that wouldn’t he?

  “Fine,” she whispered in a rush, “I just, um, am getting my stuff ready to start class tomorrow.” She stood, rustling around through her book bag for show.

  Hey, at least it wasn’t a complete lie if she did that, right?

  “Ah, yes, cosmetology school. How could I have forgotten?” he sighed, chuckling under his breath.

  Abigail rolled her eyes, a tiny smiled threatened to curve up at the tips of her dry lips as she flicked the zipper of her book bag with her fingertips. Let’s just say her father wasn’t entirely in agreement with the whole idea of her becoming a cosmetologist, a hairdresser. He’d always made it known to both her and her mom, that he wanted Abigail to follow his career path as a big–wig banker, rather than her mom’s. But for once, she had to disagree with him on her future because the one thing she enjoyed most of all was doing hair. Yeah, it wasn’t the most ambitious career choice out there—nor was it the best paying one—but happiness outweighed success in her mind, and as of right now, she needed all the happiness she could find.

  “Yes dad, cosmetology school. Anyways,” she popped her lips, leaning back against her dresser, “what’s up?” she tugged at the ends of her long ponytail that hung over her shoulder, twirling it impatiently with her fingers as she waited for him to respond.

  “Well,” he cleared his throat. His voice seemed to shake as he spoke, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. Abigail narrowed her eyes. What was his issue? “I need you to let your mother know that I won’t be home until late tonight. I’ve got a few more details to go over with Marcus about the new bank going up in Kearney.” Abigail blew out a quiet breath, thanking the big guy upstairs for keeping the crisis at bay for a little bit longer.

  She wasn’t in an emotional state of mind for world war three tonight. And that’s exactly what would have happened if her father would have come home and discovered his wife doing the horizontal polka with her new, much younger, flavor of the month.

  She nodded, even though she knew he wouldn’t see her, “Sure thing, Daddy, I’ll let her know.” Abigail started to pace the floor, just as the guilt crept up on her. She would not feel guilty—this was her mother’s doing—not hers.

  “Is everything okay, pumpkin? You sound kind of down.”

  She stiffened, shutting her lids to focus on the blackness. Black helped her function when she was stressing. “I’m okay. Sleepy, but okay.” Her pacing ceased as she sat back down on her bed. A hefty sigh released from her mouth, and tears welled in the corner of her eyes, burning the lids.

  Abigail was not a crier. But as she prepared to tell her dad goodbye, the tears were suddenly threatening like a wildfire just off in the distance—still a distance away, but just as threatening and dangerous. “I’ll, um, see you later Dad.” She stuttered, needing to get off of the phone—five minutes ago.

  “All right sweetheart, I love you. Try to get some rest tonight, okay? And I’ll hopefully see you sometime tomorrow evening.”

  “Love you too, Dad.” She tossed the phone onto the nightstand without a goodbye. Utter frustration tugged at the pieces of her sort of intact heart thrumming around inside her chest.

  She fell onto her bed. She just needed to sleep—even though she knew the tears would surely escape the moment she relaxed her eyelids. But when she decided to give it a try, to let her emotions go, a soft knock landed against her door instead. She curled her lip in annoyance, and then she sighed. Great! Just freaking great; there was only one person who would be at her door right now. One person she absolutely did not want to see…

  Abigail rolled over onto her stomach, shoving her head under her soft, downy pillow with a groan. She lay there quietly, for a few more agonizing minutes, biting her upper lip as the knocking persist
ed.

  “Honey, I heard your phone jingling. Was that your dad calling?” Jesus, was privacy no longer sacred in this house?

  Abigail lifted her head, laying it on top of the pillow before facing the door. A hint of anxiousness laced her mother’s eyes when she finally peered through the crack a minute later. Well, it was either anxiousness or post–coital bliss that is. Either way, it did nothing more than piss off Abigail some more. She regarded the woman she’d never been close to with narrowed eyes. But her mom didn’t take hints well and simply shoved her way inside.

  “Well, gee Mom, it’s fabulous to see you too,” sarcasm was Abigail’s forte, and her mother always managed to bring out that wonderful side to her. “And yeah, that was Dad. He’s going to be late tonight, and he just wanted me to give you a heads–up.”

  Her mom let out a long sigh, obviously relieved that she didn’t have to face him yet. Damn her. If she wasn’t her mother, then Abigail would have most likely slapped the stupid right from her dense, pale face. Her mom paused, turning around to face her before walking back out the door. Her mouth jarred open a little bit—as if she wanted to tell her something else. Abigail waited—her own eyes wide and pointed—but her mom never spoke, just continued to stare.

  Okay, so apparently Abigail was going to have to do the talking. “Mom, I gotta ask you something.”

  Her mom’s eyes narrowed, “What’s that?”

  Abigail cleared her throat, suddenly overtaken by nerves. This was easier said in her head, than out loud. “Are you, um, happy? I mean…are you happy with Daddy that is?” Abigail turned her gaze towards the blanket, unable to face her mother’s knowing, lying eyes.

  Her mom cleared her throat, “Uh, why the sudden interest in your father’s and my relationship, Abigail?”

  “No reason, never mind.” She nodded, pressing her palms flat on top of her mattress.