Hale

by K. Webster

  Amy beams up at me.

  It’s too damn bright here.

  Turning away from her supportive smile and my brother’s bothered glare, I reach forward with my thumb and attempt to wipe away the blush on Dad’s cheek. His skin is cold and gross feeling. As soon as I touch him, I kind of wish I didn’t. But now that I realize the red is coming off, I’m invested in seeing it through to the end.

  “Cheer up, Ry-Bear.”

  Those were the last words Dad spoke to me. I didn’t understand why they had to have an anniversary dinner without me. I was their kid. If they had just taken me with them, I’d be lying in a third casket finally knowing the meaning of life. I’d be dancing somewhere in the dark. Alone. Happy. At peace. Hudson would have to fret over the fact they’d want to pluck my thick, dark eyebrows because I’ve told him before bushy brows are the style now and he’d want to honor that. He’d tell them to take me out of the boring dress they’d no doubt put me in and let me wear my favorite red flannel shirt I stole from him before he went off to college.

  Someone sobs loudly and I laugh at them.

  I laugh until I realize it’s me sobbing.

  I’m a mess.

  “Cheer up, Ry-Bear.”

  Amy tries to hug me, but I push her away from me. Dad looks like a girl right now and I need to fix it. His lips are tugged into a permanent frown.

  “Cheer up, Daddy,” I whisper, my tears splashing on his face as I see to it he doesn’t get buried looking more like a woman than Mom.

  “Rylie,” Hudson warns, his body heat behind me, letting me know he’s close. “Stop it.”

  Ignoring him, I rub and rub and rub, the tears blurring Dad before me, until I’m being pulled away by strong arms. I kick and flail and scream, but my captor is too powerful. I’m dragged into a private, side room and the door closes behind us.

  No longer able to fight, I collapse in Hudson’s grip. Thankfully, he’s strong enough for both of us. I’m unable to carry on with a brave face like he does. Aside from that first night, I barely see any emotion from him. He’s able to compartmentalize his feelings. It’s unfair.

  I clutch onto his suit, no doubt smearing Dad’s makeup all over it, as I cry against him. My brother and I have always fought, but right now he’s the strength I need. He hugs me fiercely. His mouth whispers promises that he’ll always take care of me. That together, we won’t be alone.

  God, how I want to believe him.

  But as soon as this funeral is over, he’ll pack up and leave us. He’ll leave his dead-inside sister and his big-boobed girlfriend. I’ll be left to pick up all the pieces while he throws the ball around and makes America proud.

  My heart that aches so badly starts to go numb. The numbness trickles through my veins and bleeds through each nerve ending. I’m as good as alone.

  “Everything will be okay,” Hudson vows, mimicking Aunt Becky’s annoying mantra. His words send a flare of anger surging through me.

  “No, Huds,” I bite out. “It won’t be okay. Our parents are fucking dead.”

  He winces and looks over his shoulder as if he’s embarrassed by my words. The same reaction as always. Any time one of his friends or coaches or another parent might see his obnoxious little sister act out, he’d look over his shoulder. With a furious growl, I shove him away from me.

  Despite being much taller than me and carrying at least a hundred pounds more than my small frame, he gets caught off guard. He stumbles and nearly falls on his ass. Anger blazes in his green eyes as he storms over to me. His fingers bite into my biceps as he clutches me.

  “Calm the hell down, Rylie,” he snaps.

  I try to wriggle from his hold and shove him again, but he yanks me to him. His strong arms lock me in a hug I can’t get out of. My big, mean brother holds me and continues to whisper assurances to me.

  For a moment, I believe them.

  Together, we believe his lies.

  But nothing will ever be fucking okay again.

  Ever.

  Hudson

  Three weeks later…

  “You should let me rub the tension from your shoulders,” Jada says, her smile bright and flirtatious.

  Nick nudges me with his elbow. “Yeah, Hale. Let Jada rub one out for you.”

  “I’m fine,” I tell her, forcing a smile.

  She waltzes off and I do allow myself to check out her ass. God, I’m a fucking prick. My phone buzzes and it’s like Amy has a sixth sense of anytime I even think about another girl.

  Amy: Can you talk?

  I type out my response with one hand and knock back a shot with the other.

  Me: Studying. I’ll call you tomorrow.

  Amy: I miss you.

  My eyes lift to meet Jada’s blue ones as she leans forward to pour more tequila into my shot glass. Her big tits are all but spilling out of her shirt. Maybe I find myself attracted to Jada because she reminds me of a naughtier version of Amy. Blond hair. Big blue eyes. Tits that would make most men achingly hard over.

  That’s it.

  I just miss Amy.

  “Thanks,” I grind out as I reply back to my girlfriend.

  Me: I miss you too.

  Emboldened by the liquor, I press her.

  Me: Show me your tits, baby. I miss them too.

  She sends me a bunch of wow-face emojis.

  Amy: Don’t be a perv.

  No pictures of her tits.

  Me: Come see me.

  Amy: I wish, but you know how my mom gets. I have to open the boutique tomorrow. When can you come back home?

  “After my shift, a bunch of us are heading to the lake. Want to come with me?” Jada asks, her full lips turning up on one side.

  My dick sure as hell wants to.

  “He does,” Nick answers for me. “Just don’t tell his girlfriend.”

  Jada smirks. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Amy: ??

  Me: Spring Break in a couple of weeks. Headed to bed now.

  I pocket my phone. “I guess I’ll go.”

  This was a bad idea, but as we all sit around the bonfire laughing and cutting up, I can’t help but relax. Since Mom and Dad died so suddenly almost a month ago, I haven’t found many moments to enjoy. Baseball feels forced. School is a drag. My job with Mrs. Brass no longer keeps my interest. Even Amy gets on my nerves. So having a chick flirt with me and hold her own on baseball stats is kind of fun.

  “We could get out of here,” Jada says, a playful smile tilting her lips.

  “Last time we left the herd, I made out with you. I have a girlfriend.” The frustrated way I say those words is pathetic. It’s almost as though I wish I didn’t have a girlfriend, which is nonsense. I love Amy. I’m going to marry her one day.

  Right?

  My mom’s words echo in my head. It was almost as if she knew I’d reach this point. I wish she were here so I could talk to her about it.

  “I heard about your parents,” Jada says. “I’m sorry.”

  I jerk my head up to find her staring softly at me. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not, though. You have to be hurting.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “I like you and would love nothing more than to help you not hurt.”

  My cock aches at her insinuation.

  But then my phone buzzes in my pocket, reminding me once again I have someone back home.

  Rylie: I can’t take this anymore.

  Frowning, I tug my hand from Jada’s and reply to my sister.

  Me: Take what?

  Rylie: Aunt Becky! She’s a Nazi! I hate her.

  God, she’s so fucking dramatic.

  Me: You’ll live.

  Ignoring my sister, I pocket my phone and rise from the log I was sitting on. Jada stands too. I can’t say the words, but it’s like she knows anyway. With my head down, staring at the leaves covering the earth, I walk to my truck. When I reach the door, I don’t get to open it before two slender arms wrap around my middle from behind. Jada’s fat tits press into my back and I
close my eyes. Then, her palms roam south. She cups my erection through my jeans and I let her.

  I fucking let her.

  “Jada,” I growl. “I can’t do this.”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” Jada purrs as she turns my body.

  I lean against my truck door as she pulls at my belt. My dick has thickened and throbs for attention. Amy and I had sex last time—once—when I was down for my parents’ funeral. It had been rushed and borderline angry on my part. And quite frankly, it was the best sex we’ve had in a long time. Even if I did make her cry.

  “It was like you were mad at me.”

  Guilt is rattling through me, knocking at every bone in my body. I should push Jada away and call Amy. That’s what girlfriends are for. You lean on them when shit in your life is overwhelming.

  “It’s not about you. I’m just upset.”

  A groan hisses from me when Jada releases my cock from my boxers. Fuck. I need to stop this. What about Amy?

  “I know you’re hurting, Hudson, but you don’t have to be hateful.”

  Amy’s selfish words are forefront in my mind as I search for a justifiable reason for what I’m doing. Warm lips wrap around my cock and my eyes close. I try to imagine it’s Amy so I won’t feel so fucking horrible, but all it does is remind me Amy doesn’t give head anymore.

  “The taste makes me gag.”

  Jada bobs on my dick and I’m dizzied from the pleasure of it. I feel like I don’t know what the fuck is going to happen anymore with my life. One moment my life was all planned out for me. The next moment, it all feels so uncertain.

  “When you do it from behind, it makes me feel like I’m a whore.”

  Images of the last time I fucked Amy spring back into my mind. After the funeral, I’d taken her to my old bedroom, bent her over the bed, shoved her dress up, and fucked her fast.

  Jada runs her tongue along the tip of my cock and I groan, “I’m going to come.”

  She opens her mouth and closes her eyes as she strokes my cock faster and more furiously. For a moment, she could pass for a sluttier version of Amy. I grunt as I climax, my semen splashing all over Jada’s pretty face.

  I’m relaxed and happy for all of three seconds.

  Then reality slaps me in the face.

  I just cheated on Amy. I let a bartender with a nice rack suck my dick.

  Fuck.

  I wake up with my back stiff and my chest hollow. Last night was a mistake. A lapse in judgment. It shouldn’t have fucking happened.

  The morning air is cold and Jada shivers beside me. She wasn’t offended when I cursed and then bitched about what a mistake I made. Simply told me to get in the truck and let it out. With virtually a stranger, I let out every damn thing that was bothering me.

  My parents’ death.

  My nagging girlfriend.

  My bratty sister.

  I felt like such a spoiled little shit as I griped about people I’m supposed to love and care about. But, fuck, if it didn’t feel good to get it all off my chest. Jada, being the good bartender she is, talked a little and listened a lot.

  Thankfully, we didn’t do much more than that.

  I can only take so much guilt for one day.

  “Want to go for breakfast?” Jada asks as she sits up and rubs at her neck. In the broad daylight, I can see she’s not as pretty as Amy. Not that I ever thought she was.

  God, I’m so stupid.

  “Nah, I have a class in an hour,” I say as I turn the engine over. “I’ll run you home, though.”

  She buckles her seatbelt and regards me with kind eyes. “Last night was just a stress reliever, Hudson. Don’t ruin your life over it. You should probably try to unpack some of that stress more often. I’m always here if you need help.” She winks at me, insinuating she’s always down for a blow job.

  “Thanks,” I grit out as I drive away from the lake.

  The entire ride to her apartment, she tells me of her family and other things I don’t actually hear. I nod politely and answer when asked questions. And when I finally drop her off, all I do is wave. When she’s long gone, I pull my phone out and plug it into the charger. As soon as it comes to life, I see I have missed texts and calls from everyone.

  My heart sinks.

  Last time that happened, I learned my parents fucking died.

  Amy: We can Facetime. I’ll show you my boobs.

  Amy: You really did go to bed.

  Amy: I love you.

  I scrub at my face and growl. I’m such a fucking idiot. All the texts on my phone are from last night. While I was getting my dick sucked by some random girl.

  Rylie: You don’t understand. They hate me.

  Rylie: Did you listen to that song I sent you? Reminds me of Dad.

  Rylie: Mom and Dad used to take us to Lake of the Ozarks each summer. Will we still go or did all our traditions die with them?

  Rylie: I was looking through some boxes in Aunt Becky’s basement. I found the one with Mom and Dad’s wedding pictures. You look just like her.

  Rylie: It hurts, Hudson. It fucking hurts.

  Rylie: I miss you.

  Rylie: Fuck you too.

  Not only did I cheat on my girlfriend, but I let my sister down too when she needed someone to talk to.

  Aunt Becky: Can you call me when you get a chance?

  Aunt Becky: I caught your sister smoking pot in the basement.

  Aunt Becky: She is out of control. Call me.

  I’m overwhelmed this morning, but I dial my aunt anyway. She answers on the first ring.

  “Hudson,” she greets, her voice icy.

  “Hey, Aunt Becky.”

  “Will you please talk some sense into her? Randy and I can’t get through to her. She threw her phone at the living room mirror. I’ll be vacuuming glass out of the couch for weeks now. Weeks, Hudson. And if she thinks I’m buying her another phone, she has another thing coming.”

  My phone buzzes and I grit my teeth. “What do you want me to do, Aunt Becky?”

  “Here,” she blurts out. “Talk to her.”

  “Hello?”

  “What?” Rylie snaps. Her tone is angry, but I hear the underlying sadness in her word.

  “What the fuck is going on, Rylie?”

  “Aunt Becky is crazy,” she hisses. “She thinks just because she’s rich and I have to live with her she can control me. I don’t want her money!” She screams the last sentence.

  Aunt Becky screams something back.

  “Calm the fuck down,” I bite out. “She’s doing her best.”

  “Whatever, Hudson. Go do your thing. Bye.”

  She hangs up on me and I pinch the bridge of my nose. Class time comes and goes as I sit in the parking lot of Jada’s apartments. I pull up the song Rylie sent. “Stuck in the Middle with You” by Stealers Wheel. As soon as I hear the folksy tune, it does remind me of Dad.

  Amy: I missed my period.

  Goddammit.

  Leaning forward, I rest my head on the steering wheel. I can’t deal with this shit right now. I can’t fucking deal. Ignoring my girlfriend and everything that text implies, I turn up the music and think back to days when Dad would pluck away on his acoustic guitar and try to sing songs he had no business singing.

  I miss him.

  I miss them both.

  Fuck.

  Rylie

  “Come on,” Aunt Becky snaps as she parks in front of the drugstore. “I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

  She probably thinks I’ll steal her precious Lexus. Rolling my eyes, I climb out of the car and follow her into the building. We’re going to be late for school this morning, but when are we ever on time? The school must be tired of me too because they keep writing off my tardies and absences as “still coping with parents’ death.”

  There is no coping.

  Just the death.

  It’s a constant thought in my mind. Each morning when I open my eyes, every night when I fall asleep, and every moment in between. They’
re gone.

  Aunt Becky leaves me to go to the pharmacy. I browse up and down the aisles. Maybe I’ll steal something just to piss her off. I’m smirking when I run into another girl. She drops a pregnancy test at my feet.

  I bend down to pick it up, but before I can look at her, she speaks.

  “Hi, Rylie,” she clips out.

  Snapping my head up, I stare at Amy’s red-rimmed eyes. “What’s this?” I demand as I wave the box in front of her.

  She plucks it from my grip and nervously looks over her shoulder. “None of your business.”

  “Are you pregnant?” I demand, my voice shrill.

  “I missed my period,” she snaps. “I don’t know.”

  All I can think about is Hudson. Mom’s wish for him to finish college and worry about Amy later. She’s sure on the fast track of reeling him back home. And as much as I’d love to have my brother closer, especially now, it pisses me off.

  “You can’t do this to him,” I blurt out.

  Her eyes widen in shock. “Do what?”

  “Trap him,” I hiss. “Have you ever heard of birth control?”

  She gapes at me, tears welling in her blue eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”

  That’s the million-dollar question.

  Everything.

  Everything is wrong with me.

  It’s why we’re in this stupid pharmacy in the first place. Aunt Becky thinks she can fix me with meds.

  “Don’t do this to him,” I plead, my voice choking up.

  Amy scowls. “I can’t exactly help that now, can I?”

  “You could end—”

  “Rylie!” Aunt Becky hollers from the end of the aisle. “Let’s go. You’re already late.”

  “I would never do that,” Amy tells me, her bottom lip wobbling. “Never.”

  “No,” I spit out. “Because all you think about is yourself.”

  Storming away from her, I push past Aunt Becky and run out the door.

  Away. Away from everyone. Away from it all.

  I stare at the bottle of pills on my dresser. Same old dresser, new room. When my parents died, I was uprooted from my home and moved into my aunt and uncle’s place. Aunt Becky was horrified when I chose to bring my own furniture into my room rather than use her fancy stuff. Mom and I spent last summer sanding down all of my old furniture I had since I was a kid and repainting it. It’s kind of shitty because we both sucked at restoration, but it’s one of the few things we did together and had fun.