by Brinda Berry
Slam.
The cue stick glides between his fingers like it’s oiled. One long stroke. The red stripe rolls to its destination.
“Nine to the left side and thirteen after it.” Collin’s warm, steady voice causes me to give a slow blink. His tone is far too confident for my liking.
Both stripes follow his command, obedient little drones.
Shit. He’s good. A better player than his roommates.
‘So what’ says the niggling worry in the back of my mind. The same one that says it doesn’t matter when the late notice for the electric bill comes in the mail.
“Three balls to go,” Jordy announces in his ESPN broadcaster voice. Although he sits on a barstool across the room, he leans in conspiratorially. “Collin inspects the table to select his next shot. But can he break into the lead after his opponent has dropped so many balls?”
“Can it,” Collin says.
“Veronica’s got this game.” Jordy winks at me.
“She’s not bad,” Collin says. He lines up his next shot. “Fourteen in the right corner.”
Clink. The ball slides lazily to the pocket and drops.
Goosebumps pebble along my arms. He’s going to win. He’s going to expect me to keep my end of the bet.
I may be stubborn and silly and impulsive.
But I’m not a liar. This means I’ll have to pay up on the bet if he wins.
“Ten right pocket,” Collin calls out. “And twelve in the left.”
I open my mouth to suck in more air. There’s not enough oxygen in the room. Maybe something’s wrong with the ventilation.
The cue ball pops as it hits the purple ball, spinning like a top, pistoning the ten to its home, and then gliding all the way to the end of the table. Collin’s lined up a perfect shot for the remaining eight-ball.
My jaw drops. I wipe my hands against my hips.
Collin straightens and strolls around the table twice. He pauses at my side. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re the hustler. You could’ve said something before we bet.”
He chuckles, a low, buttery sound deep in his throat. “That would’ve stopped you from betting?”
My gaze returns to the eight-ball, its dark gleam an eerie harbinger. “Go ahead. Sink the eight.” I’m surprised at how calm I sound despite the acid rising from my stomach up my throat.
Dylan rocks back on his heels and looks at me. “You can still win.”
Jordy clears his throat dramatically. “You guys gonna talk all day? Those balls won’t move by themselves.”
Collin’s still for a couple of seconds and makes a sudden move that startles me. “Side pocket.”
It’s not like there’s a straight shot for the eight ball, but he’s chosen an odd one. Not the one I’d choose.
He bends to line up and pushes the stick gently forward. The cue ball rolls down the table and shoulders the eight toward the side pocket. The black ball does a crawl across the burgundy felt to the edge of the pocket.
And stops.
Jordy’s whoop of delight rings in my ears.
5
Collin
The look on Veronica’s face wreaks havoc on my plans. I’d planned to win the bet, listen to her story, and convince her to go to the cops about her situation. Problem solved. Granted, I have zero experience with this sort of thing, but the police know what to do about domestic abuse.
So I play the ball with a calculated slide of the stick.
Jordy’s booyah reverberates through the basement. Dylan gives me a knowing look and a single nod.
Veronica glares at Jordy. “What are you so happy about? You lost the bet.”
“Oh yeah. Who cares?” He waves dismissively in the air. “It was worth it to see somebody beat Collin.”
She stares at the cash Jordy pulls from his wallet and hands to Dylan. Her expression is a careful blank now. It’s the look of a person working through a problem and not wanting to give anything away.
“Show’s over.” I noisily replace my stick in the oak wall rack. “I need to call it a night. Veronica, let me get a few things out of my room and it’s yours for tonight.”
“That’s not our deal.” She tilts her chin up. “I get this room. For a few days.”
“I shouldn’t have made the bet without asking them,” I say, nodding toward Dylan.
Dylan shakes his head. “Oh no. You’re not getting out of this on my account. I don’t care if she stays.”
Jordy chimes in. “Me either.” He’s already heading up the stairs and chuckles all the way to the top. “Night, Veronica,” he yells over his shoulder.
Dylan clamps a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll head up too. See you in the morning, Veronica.”
Veronica goes to the wall rack and places her stick in an empty slot. “So, I guess I’ll be staying.” It’s an uncertain statement.
“Yeah. Of course you can stay. I don’t go back on my word or back out on a bet.”
“Mind if I keep your clothes for the night?”
“Course not.” I rub my hand across the back of my neck. “The futon unfolds. There’s a blanket and pillows in the closet.” Veronica’s not the first overnight guest in the game room, but I don’t mention the others have been the result of guests who’ve partied too hard.
“Thanks.” She heads to the closet and I’m unable tear my gaze away from her.
“You need anything, you let me know.”
“I won’t need a thing.”
“Well then … goodnight.” I’m stalling like a kid on his first date standing on the front doorstep.
“Night,” she says from the open closet as she tugs down a pillow from the shelf. “And you’re a lifesaver.”
The phrase bothers me like a splinter as I go up the stairs, as I pass Dylan cleaning up the kitchen, as I go up the second staircase to my room. I’m startled when Dylan puts a hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t even heard him behind me.
“What?” I grumble the words, preoccupied and perturbed. I should insist she take my bed, but it’s too personal. Too involved.
“What happened to her arms?” His voice is a mere whisper.
I close my eyes in a long blink. “Don’t know.”
We linger in my doorway. I tuck my hands in my pockets.
“She seems like a nice girl.” Dylan peers down the stairs.
“Hmm…”
“I’m glad she’s got a good guy like you on her side,” he says. It’s on the tip of my tongue to explain the real situation, but something makes me hold back.
“She’ll be okay. She’s better now.” I turn and close the door behind me.
A shower goes far in relaxing me. I lie down on my bed, stare up at the ceiling, and listen to the sounds within the house. Jordy’s still awake, his television volume low and likely to be on all night.
Dylan’s probably asleep. He’s an early riser and regimented in his habits.
Another sound catches my attention. A girl’s voice. Her voice.
When I moved into this room, I noticed something odd. Sound from the game room travels up through the heat and air vents like an intercom system. I can hear everything. More than I want. Secrets.
Veronica’s voice is tense. “I’m calling to give you a message for Gunner. No one else. Tell him I’m okay.” Her voice breaks and she’s crying.
I hold my breath and move closer to the vent.
“No,” she says. “I’m okay. Tell him I love him no matter what happens. Tell him I miss him.”
I. Cannot. Breathe. I mentally will Jordy to turn the television volume down, but of course this doesn’t happen. I strain to hear more.
Who’s she talking to? The one who beat the shit out of her? People at home who can help her?
She’s crying—gasping-for-breath hard crying like people do when everything they believe in has been ripped away. The sound does something funny to my chest, and I break out in a sweat.
Then suddenly, she stops crying. After several sniffles, s
he says, “No, everything will be fine. Don’t tell anyone else I called you. Promise.” She pauses. “Bye.”
Jordy’s television announces the latest infomercial for some exercise program. Everything else is quiet in the house.
I lie awake for hours wondering if she’s asleep.
* * *
The next morning, I flop over in bed, sun streaming through the window and my clock alarm blatting a steady stream of irritating shrieks. I shield my eyes from the bright light.
Tuesday is prep day for the Rock Universe podcast. Once a non-paying but highly enjoyable gig, the podcast now brings in a surprising amount of money. It gets a lot of buzz going for up-and-coming rock bands, but it’s not the core business. The funny thing is, it hadn’t started as anything more than a way to do something I enjoyed while in college.
Rock Universe has given me freedom. Freedom and a confidence I’d lost once this year. I now have a belief in the beauty of doing something because it makes me happy. If I’m happy, I work harder and excel at whatever is in front of me.
Voices from downstairs drift upward and curiosity gets the best of me. I open the door and recognize Veronica’s voice, even raspier than yesterday.
“This one kills me,” she says. “I’d love to be inside this episode. I mean I do love the regular shows where Buffy’s getting all badass on the vamps, but the lyrics in this musical thing are too campy. It’s the best.”
I didn’t realize she was such a chatty thing. I back up and grab a pair of jeans to throw on. It’s too late in the morning for Dylan to be downstairs since he leaves early. Jordy, on the other hand, usually has to drag himself out of bed.
I’m stunned to find Veronica and Jordy on the sofa watching television and eating cereal. She’s sitting with her legs tucked under and holding a huge bowl close to her body. My T-shirt is too big on her and her posture makes her look like a little kid. They’re both so engrossed in the TV show that they don’t notice me for a minute.
“Morning. What’s going on here?” I look at Jordy. “You’re up early.”
“Yup.” He yawns once and continues to spoon cereal into his mouth at an alarming rate.
“Want to watch with us?” Veronica scoots to the arm of the sofa as if there are no other seats in the room.
“No.” I’m unnerved by the dark circles under her eyes I’m sure weren’t there yesterday.
“You can scooch in,” she says and points with her spoon to the space between her and Jordy.
“He doesn’t do TV.” Jordy clangs his spoon against his bowl and the sound annoys me. “Collin says there’s nothing on it that interests him.”
“Says the guy who watches infomercials—the crack of TV land.” I shake my head. “At least you aren’t in your boxers since we have a guest.”
“Oh, he was in them earlier.” Veronica shrugs. “I told him it was no big deal, but he got dressed anyway.”
“Jordy, man, tell me she’s kidding.”
“Hey, she has a brother,” Jordy says to dismiss my concern.
“So what?” I choose to sit across from them in a club chair, not facing the television. They’re both still watching the vampire show.
Veronica shrugs. “I’ve seen a guy in his boxers. That’s all.”
The brother comment is interesting. She does have someone to call after all. Unless the brother’s a kid, he can come and help her. It’s not like I’m trying to wipe my hands of her, but she obviously needs help. What will I do if her time runs out and she’s homeless again?
“How old’s your brother?” I can’t help asking.
“Just a second. I love this song.” Veronica sets her breakfast on the end table. Then to cap off my surrealistic out-of-body experience of the morning, she sings.
She’s got this beautiful, husky voice that emotes with every word. The way her face lights up like she’s someone else in a different place gives me the impression that she’s not inside her head.
Jordy nods his head to the beat, a goofy smile on his face, and joins her for the chorus. They harmonize, and it actually sounds good. Jordy can carry a tune, but he’s not as good as Veronica. They belt out the song with a full crescendo at the end. Together, they are Broadway good.
The song ends with their voices overpowering the TV. They’re grinning at each other and a sudden spike of jealousy rams into my soul. I barely know this girl and I’m envious she’s dueting with my roommate.
“You’re kidding me,” I mutter, scolding myself for being ridiculous.
Jordy puts his cereal bowl on the coffee table and raises his hand for a high-five, which Veronica returns without a second of hesitation.
“Dude! That was unbelievable.” Jordy grabs the remote and turns down the volume on the car commercial. “You’ve got some pipes on you, girl.”
Dude?
“Veronica? Can I have a word with you?” I give Jordy what I hope he understands as a get-the-hell-out look.
He only stares at me blankly.
“Don’t you have something to do today?” I ask him in an even tone.
“Oh, uh, sure,” he answers and hops up from the sofa. “Veronica, I have to run up to my office and take care of some papers. I’ll swing back by the house around lunchtime. We can grab a bite to eat.”
Grab a bite to eat? Maybe I’ve been asleep for a couple of days and didn’t realize it. I hope my mouth isn’t hanging open.
“Collin doesn’t think it’s a good idea,” Veronica says. She’s answering him but looking at me. “But thanks. Maybe next time.”
Why am I coming across as the bad guy?
Jordy scowls at me before hesitating at the door and looks at Veronica. “Don’t pay attention to him. He’s got a stick up his ass all the time. I’ll be back to get you after I run to the office.”
When he’s gone, I turn my attention back to her. She’s drawn her knees up to her chin and sits, waiting for me to speak first. “Listen. I’m glad you and Jordy get along and all.”
“But?”
“Well, I think we need to make plans for you today. I need to do some work and I can’t put it off—”
“I can help you.” She pops up like the Energizer bunny and grabs her bowl. “Or I can clean up the kitchen. I’m really good at cleaning. I mean … three bachelors must need some help.”
“Wait. That’s not what I—” I can’t finish before she’s disappeared and in the kitchen. “Veronica. We need to—”
Then she’s back again in front of my face with a finger pointed at me. “You’re trying to go back on your word. I won the pool game. I’ve got witnesses.”
I step back to put space between us. “Hang on a minute.”
Her body leans in so close I can see the dark circles under her eyes. “Witnesses, Mister. Jordy says—”
“I’m not going back on my word. I swear.” A sigh escapes my lips, and I resist an urge to tell her to go back to bed. She looks exhausted.
“Good. So what am I helping you with?” Veronica turns her back on me and strides to the sofa. She straightens the pillows and picks up Jordy’s newspaper he’s tossed on the floor.
“Stop. You don’t need to do that.”
“I don’t mind. I’m used to cleaning up after a messy guy.” She picks up Jordy’s coffee cup in her free hand. The motion draws my gaze to her arms and the bruises which seem darker today, like the color of fresh blue berries.
“Don’t do that. We have someone who comes to clean. She’s coming in today.”
“No. Tell me you are kidding. Are you rich or something?” Her incredulous eyebrows remain arched.
“Uh, no.”
She grabs a fleece throw from the chair and folds it into squares. “Let me do it while I’m here.”
I grab ahold of one end of the throw—intending to take it out of her hands—but I pull too hard and her chest slams against mine.
My face is inches from hers. “Veronica, I know you’re trying to be helpful. I get it. But I can’t tell Emerson not to come. We
pay her.”
Her eyes widen and she sucks in a breath. “I want to do this,” she murmurs but doesn’t let go.
“I don’t think so.” I release the throw and she shakes it out to refold it.
“Hmm.” Displeasure vibrates from the word. “I’ll help her. And I’m not expecting you to pay me. I know it’s what you think. I’m trying to be nice because you’re letting me crash here.”
I close my eyes. “Emerson’s going to be here at 9:00. I need to head out. You can come with me.”
“But I can stay and help her.”
“No.” I inhale and try to give her an I’m-a-nice-guy smile. It occurs to me that Malerie can persuade this girl to get some help. “You can hang out with me while I work today. Okay? There’s things you can do.”
She studies me with her head cocked to the side and eyes narrowed like she suspects my motives. “I guess I can. I’ll leave Jordy a note.”
“Yeah. Good.” And she’s acting like she and Jordy have a date. Jordy’s invitation to Veronica echoes in my head. He’s such a horn dog. I’m strangely pleased I’ve thwarted his attempts. Veronica has more important things to worry about than lunch plans. “I’ll take a quick shower. Your clothes from yesterday are clean and in the laundry room. We can leave in half an hour.”
She nods and leaves the room with Jordy’s coffee cup.
I take a quick shower, mentally planning the day’s agenda. When I finish, I grab my laptop bag and head downstairs to an empty living room and kitchen. The house is silent. For a second, I imagine she’s left like some fugitive on the run. I pat my jeans pocket for my car keys and feel like a jerk for confirming she hasn’t taken them.
A noise from the game room alerts me to her presence. I grab an apple and quickly walk downstairs before swinging the door wide.
“Veronica?”
Hell’s bells and glorious day. I quickly turn around but not before seeing her half-naked. The white, bare skin of her plump breasts revealed the tan lines of a bikini top. A string bikini if I’m guessing right. My heart rate spikes and lust follows a second behind it.
“Have you heard of knocking?” Her calm, smoky voice scolds like I’m a little boy instead of a grown man who now has to ignore the vision giving me a definite case of wood.
