Moto

Moto Page 6

by M. Never

  Motherfucking Reese is right.

  After I had run myself into oblivion, I put on my big girl panties and headed to Dev’s, praying they stay put. They seem to have a mind of their own whenever I’m around either brother.

  Dev and I worked out a schedule so one of us would be in the house with Reese at all times. For the next few weeks, he’s going to be pretty helpless and will need a lot of assistance. I’ll basically be his bitch. Can’t wait for that. The twisted motherfucker will probably get his jollies off on bossing me around.

  Dev’s home surprises me. It’s a well-kept colonial set back in the woods behind a new housing development. The road leading up to it is almost fairy tale like. The sun’s glow illuminating the vibrant, green-leaved trees bowing over the curvy dirt path.

  I walk up onto the porch and knock on the door.

  “Come in!” someone shouts, so I take a deep breath and walk right over the threshold. As I enter the foyer, Dev comes hurrying down the stairs in his blue scrubs and socks.

  “The door’s never locked, Kayla. You don’t have to knock.” He smiles as he makes his way past me. “Follow me. I’ll give you the two cent tour, then I have to jet.”

  He picked up a shift at the hospital today, so I understand his hurry.

  I follow him into the kitchen. The house is nothing extravagant, and honestly, it could use a woman’s touch. Lots of dark furniture and leather, sparse decoration, and way too many electronics. But the walls are painted a warm shade of beige, and natural light pours in through the morning room off the kitchen.

  “Bathroom,” he points at a door we passed in the hallway; “kitchen,” he turns as if to say obviously; “family room,” which is to my right; and, “dining room,” he points to the left, where Reese is brooding in the hospital bed Dev had set up for him.

  “How is the patient?” I ask.

  Dev rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “A ray of fucking sunshine like always.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “It’s Sunday.” He sighs.

  “So what?” I question.

  “Race day.”

  “And that means what?”

  “It means Reese is reminded he’s here, in hell, instead of where he wants to be.”

  “On the track?” I guess.

  “Exactly.”

  “Which means he’s an extra bright ray of fucking sunshine,” I conclude.

  “Bingo.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “You know I can hear you.” Reese sourly reminds us of his presence.

  “Oh, I know.” Dev crosses his arms and leans slightly so he can see Reese through the doorway.

  “You have my number if you need anything,” Dev addresses me as he makes his way to the hall closet. He slips on a pair of badass Nike Airs and grabs his motorcycle helmet in record time. It’s a jet-black orb with neon green markings. “Feel free to overuse it. I’ve been told I have exceptional sexting skills.” He smiles cockily.

  “I’ll keep that in mind in case I get bored.” I shake my head. Never going to happen. No one with the last name of Dane is invading my bubble.

  “Suit yourself. Try not to smother him while I’m gone.”

  “I’ll do my best, but no promises.”

  Dev chuckles. “Good thing I live in the middle of nowhere. There are plenty of places to hide the body.”

  “Do you think you two are funny?” Reese chimes in.

  “Hilarious.” I grin over at him. He shoots me a death glare. Today is going to be so much fun. I wonder where Dev keeps the alcohol.

  “Oh!” Dev snaps, making his way into the dining room, and I promptly follow.

  “Here.” He pulls out a bottle of prescription pills from his pocket and tosses them at Reese.

  “What are those?” I ask.

  Both Dev and Reese’s faces go blank. They really are exact replicas. Strong rectangular jaw lines, straight noses, and bright-blue, almond-shaped eyes.

  “Extra pain meds.”

  “Do you want me to hold onto them? I can monitor how many you take. Do you still have a high level of pain?” I rattle off the routine questions.

  Reese shoots me a deadly look. It’s so menacing I actually step back. “I’m a big boy. I can monitor my own fucking meds.”

  Whoa. Someone needs a serious attitude adjustment. With a crowbar.

  “Reese, behave,” Dev scolds. “Or we really will bury you in the backyard. Kayla is here to help, remember? You demanded her specifically.”

  Reese seems to mellow out after Dev’s proclamation.

  “I can take my own meds,” he repeats, more amicably.

  “Suit yourself,” I sneer.

  “Good. Now that we’re all one, big, happy family, I have to get the fuck out of here.” Dev knocks me on the arm. “Good luck.”

  With that, he leaves me alone with the shithead speed racer.

  Reese and I just stare at each other for a few seconds, each unsure of what to do with the other. I have a few morbid ideas.

  I decide to play the nice card. Maybe some TLC will chill him out. You know, kill him with kindness sort of thing.

  “Is there anything I can get you to make you more comfortable?” I finally ask, swallowing my damn pride. Why did I agree to this again? Oh yeah. Money. Green makes the world go ‘round.

  “A repeat of the other night?” He shifts presumptuously, shimmying his pelvis and draping one arm up over his head. “I’d like your mouth on other parts of me.”

  Like fucking hell.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” I fume. “I’m not your in-house ho. If you hired me thinking you were going to get a happy fucking ending every day, you are going to be sorely disappointed. What happened the other night . . .” I’m so pissed; I’m at a loss for words.

  “Was what?” Reese needles.

  “Was temporary insanity.”

  “I thoroughly enjoyed insane.”

  “It was a one-time deal.” I put my foot down.

  “That’s too fucking bad.” He doesn’t sound disappointed at all. I don’t get this man one bit. “But I’ll wear you down, eventually.”

  “Not likely.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I bristle. “Do you need anything or what?”

  “Just the remote and a glass of water for now.”

  “Fine.”

  Dev’s “dining” room looks more like an adult playroom, and not the Fifty Shades kind. It has a flat-screen on the wall, a workout bench and free weights in the corner, an air hockey table, and an Xbox super setup complete with bells and whistles galore. Oh, there is a square glass table against the back wall under the windows, so I guess that could constitute the use of the word dining room. I slap the remote into Reese’s hand and head into the kitchen for his water. I darkly consider grinding up some sleeping pills and drugging him, but my conscience gets the better of me. Damn ethical code.

  When I return to the room, the volume on the TV is up so high the surround sound is shaking the window frames. Low engine roars and a European commentator’s voice are filling the air. I hand Reese the glass while mesmerized by all the bright colors flashing across the screen.

  “Ever watch a race before?” he asks as he turns the volume down. Thank God.

  “Does a street race count?”

  Reese scoffs arrogantly. “Grab a chair. We’re about to go fucking fast.” He tries to smile, but I see the anguish hiding behind his eyes. He yearns to be wherever that is.

  I pull up one of the black chairs from the table and sit next to him; his gaze is fixated on the television.

  “Red, yellow, green,” he says as if he’s counting backward and the herd of riders take off. I watch, unenthused at first, as they speed down a straightaway. But when they come to the first turn, my stomach flutters. The high-speed riders race so closely and so fast it looks like they’re touching. As they come to a particularly sharp turn, the camera angle changes, displaying a line of racers leaning over so unbelievably low, thei

r knees and elbows practically touch the ground.

  “Holy shit. How do they not wipe out?”

  “Centrifugal force. Push and pull of gravity.” Reese schools me without taking his eyes off the television. He watches the race the same way a cat would watch a reflective object. Lap after lap, my interest increases as the commentator enthusiastically calls the action, describing in rushed detail the movements of the bikers on the track. The scene is a high-powered battle of leather-clad warriors on two wheels creating a domino effect over and over as they round every corner at death-defying speeds.

  A rider suddenly loses control of his bike, and I jump as he’s sent skidding across the asphalt and into a cushioned wall. “Holy fuck!”

  “He’s fine.” Reese brushes the accident off. “He just went cement surfing.”

  “That’s all?” I reply sardonically.

  “That’s all,” he returns lightly, still not breaking eye contact with the screen.

  By the last lap, my pulse is actually racing as fast as the speedsters. The energy the commentators are emitting is palpable as two men battle it out for first place, bobbing and weaving so closely it looks like their machines are kissing.

  “C’mon! C’mon!” Reese yells as the British-sounding announcer bellows ‘the Yamaha pulls ahead.’ In a flash, the brightly-graffitied bikes speed across the finish line, and the checkered flag is waved.

  “Yes!” Reese clenches his fist. “Yamaha. Winner.”

  I regard him surprised. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you genuinely happy.”

  “I’m not really. I’m dying inside. That should have been me, but at least the points stay in-house.”

  “Points?” I repeat naïvely.

  “Points determine the individual world champion. But the more races that are won by the sponsor’s team, the more publicity, the more money, the better engineers, and racers. Get it?”

  “Got it. Winning makes the world go round.”

  “In a nutshell.” He sighs.

  “You look tired.”

  “I guess I am a little.” He frowns.

  “It’s normal.” I try to reassure him.

  “I hate it. Makes me feel weak. Powerless.”

  “It’s temporary.”

  Reese doesn’t verbally respond, just pensively laughs to himself.

  “Can you make me something to eat, please?” He actually asks nicely. I almost fall over.

  “Sure. What would you like?”

  “An egg white omelet with mushrooms, peppers, onions, tomatoes, and a quarter cup of cheese.”

  “Wow, specific.” I laugh.

  “Part of my diet.” He rests his head on the pillow and closes his eyes.

  “Give me a few.”

  His lips curve up. “Thanks.”

  Holy crap, Reese Dane using his manners. He needs to watch racing more often.

  I make his omelet to the T, right down to the quarter cup of cheddar cheese. I have to admire him; if I were in that hospital bed, I’d be scarfing down Doritos and chocolate cake. Wait, I don’t need to be confined to do that. I do it anyway.

  I plate the omelet, then attempt a quick cleanup. Turning to put the eggs away in the fridge, I unexpectedly slam into a rock hard chest. I scream in fright, dropping the eggs all over the floor as the man in front of me cackles like a hyena.

  “Where the fuck did you come from?” I put my hand on my chest, recognizing him immediately. He’s one of Reese’s barking friends.

  “Kayla?” Reese yells.

  “All good, bro. Just me!” the intruder hollers back. “Sorry, couldn’t help it. Just too easy,” he says devilishly. He’s not much taller than I am and has grease smeared all over his young-looking face. “Riley,” he formally introduces himself.

  Right. Teardrop.

  “Kayla.” I put my hands on my hips and look down at the floor.

  “Sorry about that.” He starts to laugh again, as if uncontrollable.

  “It’s fine.” I grab the hand towel off the oven handle and drop it over the leaky egg carton. “How did you get in here?”

  “I walked through the front door.”

  “Right, never locked,” I remind myself as I bend over and wipe up some yolk. Riley saunters into the other room as I trash the towel and grab Reese’s omelet.

  “How bad?” I walk in on the middle of their conversation.

  “It’s fucked up but fixable.”

  “What is?” I hand Reese a fork and the plate.

  “His bike.” Riley clues me in. “It’s trashed, but I can fix it. Just needs some new parts. I’ll order them tonight and have them shipped to the shop.”

  “Sweet.” Reese takes a bite of the omelet. “If you have any issues, let me know. I’ll make a call.” He speaks with his mouth full. “Blech.” He makes a sour face and spits out a shell.

  “Oops. How did that happen?” I react pseudo-sweetly. He glares up at me, but the look in his eyes is more entertained than annoyed. It really was an accident but so satisfying in the moment.

  Reese takes another bite, this time unscathed. “This is actually really good once you get past the nails.”

  “Glad you approve.” I couldn’t care less if he likes my cooking or not; he’s stuck with it for the next eight weeks.

  Riley laughs again, his cackle hitting an all-time high.

  “Relax, dude.” Reese chuckles himself, the sounds clearly infectious.

  “I can’t help it. I like her.” Riley elbows me.

  Glad someone does.

  “What’s up with your friend?” I ask as I help Reese to stand. He needs to walk around to keep his muscles warm and avoid bed sores.

  “Riley? He’s harmless. He’s been crazy like that ever since I met him.”

  “How long have you known each other?” I ease the crutches under his arms and encourage him to move.

  “God. Forever. Him and Knight. It’s always been the four of us. The Mad Hatter, Knight Rider, the Phantom, and the Doctor.”

  “I take it Dev’s the doctor?”

  “Yup. Pretty funny, huh? Never would have thought when we gave him that nickname he’d actually become an M.D.” Reese winces as he hobbles around the room. Judging by his frustrated grunts, it’s clear his recovery isn’t happening as fast as he would like.

  “Why do you call him the doctor?” I keep him talking.

  Reese chuckles. “When he was ten, a teacher at school caught him with a girl. They were on the auditorium stage behind the curtain. Dev was sliding her underwear down her legs, and when the teacher asked what he thought he was doing, Dev replied, ‘Playing Operation” Reese cracks up. “He’s been the doctor ever since.”

  “Fitting. The story and nickname.”

  “That was just the first of many doctor stories.”

  “Please spare me the recap. I’ve already seen Dev play doctor in more ways than one.”

  “Oh yeah?” Reese turns around and begins the trek back to me. “You and Dev ever play doctor and nurse naked?”

  “Dear. God. No.”

  “Why not? Not into my brother?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like? You had no problems playing nurse with me.”

  I sigh, annoyed. “Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

  “Never. But really? Why aren’t you into my brother?” he nags.

  “I never said I wasn’t into him.”

  “So you are into him?” he twists my words.

  “Reese? What are you, twelve? Turning everything I say upside down?”

  “Sometimes.” He laughs. “I need to entertain myself.”

  “At my expense?”

  “Yours and Dev’s.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “To thine own self be true.”

  “Please spare me. If you’re so bored, read a book. Use this time to educate yourself on a new subject. Manners, perhaps? Or maybe even common courtesy.”

  “Nah, who needs those?”