by Xavier Neal
24 Days til School
“You're fucking with me, right?” Glove chuckles laying his weapon down to disassemble it. I want to keep shooting. Keep aiming. Keep myself in the situation with variables I can control. With outcomes I decide. What gun? Where the bullet lands. The speed. The precision.
Warily I respond, “Do I sound like I'm fucking with you?”
“But he's a dude.” Glove's comment causes my eyes to roll.
“I'm aware.”
“And he's named Michele?” Glove's continued confusion is followed by him placing his gun back in his case. “Like his parents did it on purpose?”
“I guess.”
“Are you sure they weren't aiming for a girl and just liked the name too much to let it go?”
Lordy's chuckle causes me to look over at him. “Why do you always encourage him?”
He laughs again, but Glove genuinely looks baffled. “Are you sure he isn't a she who had a sex change?!”
“I see this conversation is over.” I head for the exit with the two of them on my heels. “I'll meet you both at Callum's.”
Once in the car alone for just a moment, I let the roaring of my engine play as the soothing factor I need. Sure. Last night hearing Haven say those things calmed me down for a bit. Her offering me herself physically to help also cooled me. At least at first. Being connected to her that way always does. It's a special piece of her no one else shares. No one has ever had. It has intertwined us without words. Yet. I couldn't kill the voice in the back of my head accusing us of having sex to avoid further discussing the problem at hand. Shit. I'm really beginning to hate that voice in the back of my head. I wouldn't mind taking a fist to his face a few times.
Pulling into a space, I climb out of my car as Glove and Lordy pop out of his. The three of us end up sitting outside on the patio, each with a beer. It'll be the only one I have, but what the hell. I need one.
“And thank you, Katie,” Glove says after she delivers it.
She giggles and pushes her short blonde hair behind her ear. Her ears have a series of ear rings running up one side of them. There's a series of star tattoos that start behind her ear and seem to travel around down her neck towards the top of her boobs. Pale skin. Long legs. Short jeans shorts. Tank top with her bra strap showing. A mixed combination of things that could interest Glove. Thank God. Maybe he'll forget all about Mandy.
“If there's anything else I can do for you,” she runs her hands down into her butt jeans pockets. “Just let me know.”
“I can think of a few,” he flirts back as Lordy looks off past him at the T.V. screen that's on the inside that he can see from his location. “Starting with your number.”
“Definitely.” she leans over as he pulls out his phone.
Once he's got her information she makes herself slip away, stopping at a table Glove swung by earlier to catch up with some guy he says he used to know in high school. Unbreakable or some shit.
Picking up his beer, Lordy sighs, “She was cute.”
“Eh. She'll do for now.” his nonchalant way with women has never annoyed me as much as it does lately.
“And you wonder why I won't help you with Mandy.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means.” I turn bottle around in my grip. “Mandy is one of my girlfriend's best friends. And she deserves to be treated like more than just something to check off on you’re to do list. Especially since if anything happened between the two of you that would put us in an awkward position.”
Glove nods and takes a long swig of his beer. I expect an argument. A cocky persuasion to come flowing out of his mouth. Instead, nothing. No objection. No dispute. Not even a remark he would've considered witty. He stays silent even once the bottle is back on the table. Okay. What the hell? Is he fucking changing on me too?
“So Michele is a dude,” Lordy clears his throat taking my attention away from Glove. “Aside from his name, what's the problem?”
The issues that are plaguing my life come forcefully flowing back at me. “He wants my fucking girlfriend.”
“Are you sure?” Lordy's question of my judgment causes my fist to curl. I know he's not trying to piss me off. It's just an immediate reaction. I have to get this shit in check. These are my friend's for fucks sake.
“Positive.”
“He hit on her?” Glove rejoins the conversation as Katie brings him another beer.
“Every chance he got yesterday.”
“In front of you?” Lordy's bewilderment is followed by him ordering a thing of wings to munch on. I nod. “He sounds dumber than Glove.”
“Hey,” Glove points his fresh cold beer at him. “I wouldn't ever try to break up a happy home.” Lordy raises his eyebrows at him. With that Glove smirks. “Well, again, anyway.”
Shaking my head I steer the conversation back on track. “Yeah in front of me. In an obvious fashion. Tell me, am I out of my mind for worrying that this dick is trying to hook up with my girlfriend when I'm not around?”
“Not at all.” The fact the answer is unison makes it worse than had they just echoed one another.
“Look, I know a thing or two about guys like that,” Lordy says t and focuses on me dead in the eye. “Nothing good comes from them. They're sneaky sacks of shits. They've got a game plan and an execution style that girl's don't usually see coming. With all due respect...if you don't get rid of him, he'll get rid of you.”
The words that sound like a threat force fury to flare in my eyes. How the fuck could he say some shit like that to me? How can even sit back and assume I'd lose my girlfriend, my angel to another dude? To a dip shit like that? What the hell does he know?
Sensing the change in me Lordy follows with, “Grim, I'm not saying that you're not the better man. I'm not saying Haven's gonna leave you--”
“Then what the hell are you saying?”
“I'm just saying, if you don't correct his relationship with Haven, he's gonna start doing more than slightly imposing on yours. Trust me on this.”
His brown eyes suddenly look a lot darker than they were before. It hits me. Maybe this is what he's running from with the girl in the photo. Maybe this is what happened to him. What if this situation is what led to him losing the girl he loved? I swallow. Hard. The possibility of ending up like Lordy has me wishing I was willing to drink more than one beer.
23 Days Til School
I hate shopping. I really do. The worse is gift shopping. Too many options. Too many wrong choices to make. Too many possibilities for others to outdo your gift. One up you. And right now, I can't afford to be out done. I have to get Haven the perfect gift. One so that when the French dick gives her his, she will know who really loves her. The fact I have to compete with him makes my fist itch. Not now, Grim. You're in public. With your father.
The only thing worse than shopping is shopping at the mall. It's always busy. Filled with young couples looking for a way to hook up away from their parents, old couples looking for something to spice up their daily prune eating routine and new parents looking for a way to expose their children to the outside world in a controlled environment. Worse crowds. Worse noise. Worse afternoon.
Dad walks away from the pretzel stand. “You sure you don't want one?”
“Positive.” Appetite hasn't been the same since meeting the terrorist. It's done a wonder for my physical concentration, but at the rate I'm going to end up losing pounds I can't afford to lose. Not this close to school. Not this close to the game changer.
“Any idea what you want to get Haven?”
“No. What'd you get her?”
“Some fancy cooking crap from one of Mindy's magazines.” he takes a giant bite, salt falling onto his shirt. He took the easy way out. A practical gift. Lucky bastard. We continue walking a few feet and he spots a jewelry store and tosses his head. “What about jewelry?”
“She already has tags.”
“No one said a necklace,” the words come out of his mouth qui
ckly. Continuing that direction, he sighs, “Maybe a pair of earrings? A charm bracelet?”
“An engagement ring?”
The words cause Sir to choke on the bit of pretzel he was working on. I try to stifle a laugh as he lowers a glare to me. “A joke, son?” When I don't respond he sits down on a bench and points that I do the same. “Clint, we talked about this.”
“Before I left. I remember. You said I couldn't ask her then--”
“And I still don't recommend it now.”
“Dad--”
“Hear me out.” He lowers the pretzel. “I know right now you're itching for a way to soothe that burn. That fear that Michele is you when you're not here.” How does he do that? How does he just...know? “And while putting a giant ring on her finger would declare to the world a little louder than your tags, it could also just scare her off. It's hard. I know. I know what it's like to want to claim what's yours from invaders, but the way to do it is emotionally not by shoving shit on her body like a victory flag.”
He could have a point. Can't blame a guy for thinking that way. But what if that's the only way the asshole Michele backs the hell off? What if that's the only way he gets the picture that Haven's not for him? Especially with me going away to school for a few months. If I can get her busy planning a wedding then she'd be too distracted to even hang out with him.
Relaxing against the bench I ask, “When'd you propose to mom?”
Dad slows his chewing down. “You really wanna know?”
“I do.”
“Four months in.”
“And you're worried about me?”
“Slugger--”
“Dad--”
“Slugger, I won't lie and tell you that it was wrong. I loved your mother more than anyone else in my entire life. I wanted to marry her. To rescue her. Protect her. I wanted God and the entire world to know she was Mrs. Walker. But it wasn't that easy once we were married. There are things we still needed to learn about ourselves. And each other. What makes a marriage work and such. Hell, what makes a relationship work. Looking back, I can't say I would've waited...but I will say I would've given it more thought. And I wish someone would've warned me to slow down. I got lucky, Slugger. She said yes. I don't know what I would've done had she said no.”
I don't know what I would do if Haven said no if I asked. But we've been together longer than dad and mom. And I'm not trying to drive her away. Unfortunately, I could see asking her to marry me right now not going well, given what's been going on lately. I'm not sure as I once was that she would just scream and shriek yes. And that uncertainty scares the shit out of me.
20 Days Til School
“God you look like a puppy that just can't wait for his owner to get home,” Mindy says to me from the kitchen.
I turn around and head away from the window where I was peeking out to see if Haven had arrived home yet. She's getting out of class early today and while I offered to go pick her up, she insisted she let Mandy bring her home. She says it's a great time for girl talk and other things. And why waste the gas? I don't think she understands when it comes to her nothing is ever a waste.
“Get in here and try this,” Mindy demands.
Quickly, I relocate myself into the kitchen and hop on one of her counter tops, my bare feet swaying back and forth as she glances over her shoulder at me. Curious, I watch as she stirs something in an oversized pot. It's funny. When my mom would cook, I would sit on the kitchen table and watch her. When she died and I started spending time at Mindy's while Sir was gone, she used to let me sit on the counter, a habit that never quite ceased I guess.
Mindy holds out a spoon with her hand cradled underneath to protect her clean floors from drips. She pushes her perfectly painted red lips out and blows. Soft. Tenderly. “Be careful. It's hot, Slugger.”
I slurp the contents cautiously into my mouth. Marinara sauce. Really goddamn good marinara sauce.
“For God's sake, Slugger, you weren't raised in a barn. Manners,” she huffs. I lightly laugh as she rolls her eyes. “Good, or more garlic?”
The amazing flavor lingers happily on my tongue. Staring at Mindy I let a smile spread on my face. I know I don't say it enough out loud and I know it would probably give her a heart attack, but I really do love her. The same way I once loved my mom. She'll never replace her, but she's done a damn good job filling in the blanks.
“More garlic, huh?” the realization that I haven't responded and just been staring at her hits me.
I open my mouth with the intent to tell her how amazing she is. How I'm lucky to have her. How my mom would be so thankful that it's Mindy in my life where she couldn't be. Instead I shake my head and sigh, “It's perfect.”
For a moment, her blue eyes stare at me unsure. Here we are again with another perfect chance for me to try to tell her how much she means to me and the words just won't come out. At least it's not for lack of trying. Sometimes I think I'm more broken than could ever possibly be fixed.
Flustered, she moves to rinse the spoon, clears her throat, and asks, “Are you doing okay, Slugger?”
“Yeah. I'm good.”
She tosses me a look before returning to avidly rinsing the utensil. “Excited?”
“About tonight?”
“No, about getting into school.”
“How did you--” my words are cut off by a sarcastic look as she dries the spoon. “Dad.”
“You really think Whiskey could keep that to himself?” I fight the urge to smile at his pride in me. “Please, Slugger...” Suddenly the idea that he let it slip to Haven, the fact I haven't had the chance to tell her yet screaming at me, when Mindy helps, “Don't worry. He didn't tell her. He knows that's your responsibility.” My look of relief only lasts for a brief moment because she quickly says, “And when are you gonna tell her?”
“I don't know...soon?”
“Slugger.”
“It's just been rough lately. You know she's trying to get ready to graduate and stressed out about finals. I just don't want to add to that. So let's just get through her graduation and then I'll tell her.”
She turns the fire off under the pot and turns around wonder on her face, “Has she stopped to ask?”
The realization that she hasn't strikes me hard. Feels like a jab in the rib cage. One not needed. “Like I said she's been busy and stressing out.”
An unfamiliar look crosses on her faces before she clears her throat to clear it away. “So are you excited?”
I shrug. “A bit.”
“Just a bit? Slugger, this is a big deal! HUGE!”
A smile pops on my face even as I attempt to fight it. “If I graduate, it's a career changer. Something I always wanted.”
“Exactly,” She raises her eyebrows and sighs, “What do you mean if you graduate? Of course you're going to graduate! Why wouldn't you? You train an annoying amount.”
My head falls back in mirth. “An annoying amount?”
“Yeah. Seeing you run in the morning only reminds me every time the sun rises my youth is slowly slipping away.”
“How is that possible? You look even younger now than when I was a kid.”
Mindy shakes her head and comes over to place a hand on my cheek, “I know you're full of shit, Slugger, but you know how to make this middle aged woman's day.” I smile and she gives my cheek a soft pat. “Now back to why you don't think you'll graduate.”
Admitting to others that I have faults in my career isn't something that comes easy. Sure I never miss. Sure I've been training for something endlessly from what feels like birth. Sure my superiors think I've got this under control, but truth is, I'm not sure as I once was. Doubt is a new emotion that's worse than that poison called hope. Hope at least can build you up when you need it; doubt is set to destroy you at every open opportunity. And lately there have been many open opportunities.
“I mean, I meet all the qualifications, obviously, but I just feel I can do a little better on my swim requirements. Then of course when th
e course starts I know I'll pick up marksmanship but I'm worried about field sketching, UKD and Stalking.”
“You've never been worried before--”
“I've easily been the best before,” the cockiness comes out before I can stop it. “It’s just going to take a lot out of me and when it's over, if I graduate--”
“When.”
“When I graduate, the new range of questions I have to answer is even worse.”
Puzzled she folds her arms and asks, “What do you mean?”
“Where do I get next? If I graduate--”
“When, Clint.”
“Sorry, when I graduate, I can either take advanced courses, or possibly...” the thought trails off unsure that I want to admit the possibility out loud.
“Possibly what?” When I don't answer she pushes. Her tone and volume like a carefully selected tactic for applying pressure to all the right places. I swear, she has military training some times. “Possibly what?” I bite my tongue harder. I can out last her. Mindy points a stern, motherly finger at me, “Clint Thomas Walker, so help me God if you don't finish that sentence, worrying about graduation will be at the bottom of your list of problems.”
Fear forces my mouth to spew, “ITC. It's an intense course that takes a minimum of 9 months.”
A small gasps leaves her. “But if you do that...that's over a year you'll be gone.”
“I know.”
“That's a year away from Glove and Lordy--”
“I know.”
“Away from all of us--”
