by A. Marie
I let his many snide and unnecessary remarks slide to hone in on the only one that actually matters.
“What do you mean she hasn’t had a full meal since she’s been here? You haven’t given her any medication since when? Her first day?”
He cocks his head to the side like I’m an idiot. And maybe, just maybe I fucking am. Maybe I shouldn’t have moved her after all. Was it solely for my mother or was it for my own selfish reasons like everyone seems to think?
“Vernon, why didn’t you say anything? I need to know that!” I can’t stop my voice from rising or the shake it unveils.
“Like I said, I don’t give special treatment. If you really cared about your mom, you could’ve asked somebody instead of running to Rosie about something you clearly know nothing about.”
But I do know. I do…know.
Right?
I’ve been checking in every shift. I’ve been watching her like nobody else ever would. I’ve…been busy looking at her from a daughter’s point of view, forgetting to cover the nurse side, too.
Hands now balled at my sides, I say, “If you-”
Cynthia bounces around the corner then, completely oblivious to the tension between her coworkers coiling tighter and tighter, and says, “Hey, girl, ready to go?”
Vernon smirks, knowing I won’t lay into him in front of anyone else. Keeping my eyes on his though, I nod to her silently.
Cynthia takes the hint, turning to leave. As soon as I know she’s out of earshot, I say, “She needs her medicine. That’s your job.”
And I storm off, not really sure if I’m more upset about Vernon being an asshole or that he’s right.
* * *
Later that afternoon, I wake to a commotion from somewhere in the apartment. Just what I need today. Visitors.
Groggy and parched, I swing my bedroom door open to see a bikini-clad redhead—a real redhead, the kind where the carpet matches the drapes where my hardwood floors never did match my dye job—stumble out of the bathroom. And, I think the zoo called wanting its baby giraffe back. She’s all arms and legs and can barely walk without bumping into something, the biggest obstacle being a shirtless Beckett who’s just stepping out of his room to catch her effortlessly. He doesn’t waste his time checking to make sure she’s okay though. Not when he’s too busy watching me, or more accurately studying me. I can only imagine what I look like after waking from a fitful sleep in…I don’t even remember what.
Glancing down, I cringe. Yep, boxers and a raggedy white tank—both stolen from whoever I slept over with last. Nick, I think. Oh, and no bra.
I shoot into the now vacant bathroom. Before I can get the door closed though, I catch sight of Beckett and am surprised by what I see—desire. His eyes are still locked on mine but don’t hold disgust like I thought they would. Not even an ounce.
Which I find…amusing?
Something like that.
I decide to have a little fun with this. If Ginger can’t light the guy up, I can at least enjoy knowing I can, so keeping the door open and my eyes glued to Beckett’s, I grip the hem of my shirt, slowly dragging the material up. His gaze drops to follow, his tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip. My stomach is tan from my daily pool sessions and is always toned from my job. Lifting grown adults can be a good workout even if it wrecks your back. Plus, my countless hours of riding help me stay fit. My girl doesn’t just sound like a beast, she handles like one, too.
Beckett’s hands grip the giggling mess in front of him but he doesn’t so much as glance her way.
A heat so powerful, so dangerous, builds at my exposed belly, heading south to settle at my core. My lips part from the intensity and my fingers stutter to a halt, skimming just at the underside of my boob.
Beckett’s gaze jumps to mine, a tortured expression overtaking his face.
This started out as a joke but there’s nothing funny about finding myself in the same dilemma as him. I want, no, I need to satisfy this ache and yet, I know he won’t be the one to do it. One red-haired disaster is enough without adding a burgundy-streaked one to the pile.
Luckily, Beckett sticks his Shaq-sized foot in his mouth, effectively ruining the moment when he says, “Cold water’s to the right. Use as much as you want.” He looks away, finally noticing the girl in front of him. “I won’t be needing it.”
After one look at his smug little smirk, I kick the door shut. On him. On us. On this whole fucked up situation.
With the temp cranked to hot, I take my time washing and shaving everything since I already promised I’d attend their family dinner and the accompanying splash time even though I’ll be flying solo.
Halfway through, I end up taking a little longer on certain parts with nobody the wiser. Especially not the giant entertaining his newest pet.
Exiting the apartment, I see an older woman climbing the stairs, her arms loaded with reusable bags with different food sticking out the tops. Her eyes light up in recognition when she finds me taking up the doorway. The only person I’ve heard of living up here though is some recluse named Gary. And the couple getting ready to move in across the hall, but I doubt she’s visiting either.
“You must be Paige?” Her accented voice flows out like warmed honey and puts me at ease immediately.
“Guilty.” As my eyes hit hers, I finally see the resemblance. “And you’re Marc’s mom?” Same charcoal eyes set in a thin golden face with wavy dark, almost black, hair. It’s long and thick and makes me wonder if Marc’s hair would be that luscious if he grew it out. Probably. I hate when boys are prettier than me, yet I’m constantly surrounded by ones that are.
I need to find a new crew, I think as her glowing face pulls my first genuine smile all week.
“I’m Esmerelda, but you can call me Esme. Or Mama.”
A dagger, serrated and sharp, slices across my heart but I fight not to show it, saying tightly, “Esme it is.” Glancing at the groceries again, I ask, “Can I help you with anything? This is all going inside? It looks like it could feed an army.”
Esme transfers the bags to my arms and turns to leave. I stand here confused until she calls over her shoulder, “If you can take care of these ones, I’ll get the rest.”
The rest? As in more?
Shaking my head, I quickly unload everything onto the counter then hurry downstairs. And no, she wasn’t kidding.
“Do you always buy their groceries?” I ask once we’re in the kitchen, unpacking the massive food haul together.
“Groceries? This is for tonight’s dinner.” She clucks her tongue, making me laugh.
My mom and I would cook meals for our family, too, but it never even came close to this amount of food. She has sides for the sides.
“I didn’t believe Marcos when he told me a girl was moving in.” I place my hands on the counter behind me, watching as she floats around the kitchen, completely at ease in her surroundings. “These boys, they’re tough. It’s always been them against everyone else, even the ones that are supposed to love them most. Especially the ones supposed to love them most.” I perk up at that but she pauses, staring at the floor. Is she talking about all the guys? “Anyway, it would do them some good to have a feminine touch around here. It might soften them up a little.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” Her eyebrows draw together, so I say, “I grew up with all boys,” like that explains everything. When she still appears unconvinced, I shrug, moving away from her intense stare. “So, what can I do?”
Esme just shakes her head, shooing me out of the kitchen. “You go have fun. Marcos tells me you’ve done two things since you moved in—work and sleep. Today, you can play. You all have that in common, you know? Your work obsession. You need some balance though. That’s what I try to always tell my Joaquin but he’s as stubborn as an ass.” She all but spits the last word and I smile softly at her.
That knife strikes again.
“I don’t know. I think they have the playing part down just fine,” I say, realizing
I haven’t been out to the races lately. I should go one of these Saturdays. Have some fun of my own while also finding someone to have fun with.
Esme cuts a hand in the air. “They’re just practicing.”
Now I’m the one that’s confused.
“For?”
“For the real thing. For love,” she states as if it’s obvious. “They’re, how do you say, throwing oats?”
“Sowing wild oats.”
“Yes, sowing oats.” She snaps her fingers. “They’re making all their mistakes now so when they fall in love, they’ll get it right.”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” I mumble. It sounds like a lame excuse to sleep around. If you’ve got an itch, there’s nothing wrong with having someone scratch it, but don’t pretend like it’s part of some bigger picture. I know I don’t.
She leads me to the door, turning to face me with a seriousness I wasn’t expecting.
“Trust me, when those boys settle down, it’ll be for real and it’ll be for life. Whoever can bring one of them to their knees is a lucky woman.”
“Well, I can tell you it won’t be me.”
Although, the thought of Beckett on his knees is rather enticing and I’d like to revisit that image later, when I’m alone.
Her eyes search mine and I’m about to look away when she shrugs her shoulders, saying, “if you say so,” before returning to the kitchen.
I descend the back stairs thinking over Esme’s comment about being obsessed with work. I never realized I was obsessed with work. I don’t think I even was until recently, now that I have very real, very large bills to cover.
My mother worked her ass off my entire childhood to pay for everything my brothers and I needed, and made sure to have health insurance on all of us kids. I never knew until her diagnosis that she’d been skimping on her own coverage to decrease the monthly payments. Had been for years. I’m not sure if the boys understand the repercussions of that but I connected the dots right away. Our mother wasn’t going to regular doctor visits, let alone any specialists, squashing any chance of possibly catching the early onset symptoms sooner.
While it’s true there’s no cure, we would’ve had more time to figure out what to do with the time we had her at full capacity. I miss her easy smiles. I miss her light laughs. I would’ve counted each one like I do with Jesse’s, saving them for days like today when I need them most. I would’ve started saving money earlier instead of wasting it on shit I no longer care about.
I would’ve, I would’ve, I would’ve.
God, the guilt is enough to choke the words from even bubbling out of my weak throat. The overwhelming urge to claw my neck has my hands trembling at my sides.
An unfamiliar voice—an unfamiliar female voice—catches me off guard, saying, “penny for your thoughts,” as soon as I hit the bottom step.
Next to the outdoor staircase is a pretty brunette I’ve never seen before. Or maybe I have? Something about her seems familiar. Her long straight hair is pulled into a high pony and the words sun-kissed come to mind. If we lived near a beach, she’d be there. She’s got a skater vibe to her but looks too dainty to actually skate. Athletic for sure though, if her clothes are any indication.
She smells like strawberries and sunshine.
Her eyes. As weird as it sounds I’ve seen her eyes before. For a brief flicker of time, maybe from another life, but I know I’ve seen them. They’re not the kind a person forgets easily. Not only the distinct color—hazel—but the pain buried in them.
I tap my temple. “These ones cost a nickel.”
She laughs lightly and I like it. I like her.
“I figured. This place breeds damaged goods.”
Okay, maybe not.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.” She squeezes those eyes closed, blowing out a breath, before reopening them. “I work and, well, I guess live with all men, so I say whatever I’m thinking. I’m not very good with my own gender.”
Her sheepish expression along with her fidgety hands has me softening again.
“It’s okay. I get it. I lived with four my whole life.”
She nods her head, looking over my hair, like she’s seeing me for the first time all over again.
“Wow, I didn’t even think of that.”
Um, what? Have I met her before?
“Living with two must be a piece of cake then,” she rushes to add.
I glance over at Marc smoking a cigarette by himself then to Beckett sitting on a lounger chatting with a couple guys. After a moment, he looks up, giving me a once-over I can feel from across the pool area.
“Something like that.”
“Anyway, I’m Angela. I’m with Coty, the old roommate.”
She hooks a thumb over her shoulder at a dark prince. Dark brown hair sticking all different ways like someone just ran their hands through it and, judging from the heated look he’s giving his girl, I’m willing to bet that Angela can’t keep the guy off her for longer than a few minutes at a time. If she hadn’t already told me he was hers, the head-over-heels vibes rolling off the guy would’ve given it away.
I quickly return the wave he throws me before averting my gaze. Some things are that off-limits. He’s one of them.
“I lived across the hall for a while, so I know a little what you’re going through. Also, I work with their sorry asses every day,” she says loud enough to gain a few glares our way, then she leans over to whisper, “actually, they’re all great, amazing even, in their own way, but it takes some time to see that and appreciate it. It’s rough in the beginning but after you’re in, you’re in, and they’ll never let you go.”
I raise both eyebrows.
What is Creekwood really? A cult?
“I should probably be leaving now.”
Laughing, she grabs my elbow when I twist at the waist, pretending to go.
“No, it’s not bad. It’s all good, I promise. But if you’re not used to it, like me anyway, then it can be a lot to handle. At least in the beginning.”
“Not used to what?”
She looks back at her man and he lifts his gaze as if sensing her. “Family.”
I drop my stare to the ground, studying the cracks in the concrete. How they can start out so small, yet grow so fucking big, so fucking fast.
“Ah, the damaged goods part is starting to make sense now.”
“Right?” She laughs again, motioning me forward. “Come on, let’s go have some girl time or whatever the hell it’s called.”
Angela basically echoed what Esme just told me. What is it with these roommates of mine?
And why am I so interested in finding out when I already have more than enough to deal with, including my own screwed up family?
Putting everything I just heard aside, I join Angela and the pool party of misfits for some girl time or whatever the hell it’s called.
CHAPTER 8
Paige
I dive off the side of the pool into the crisp, cool water, gliding to the bottom before kicking back up to the top. Swimming has always been a necessity living in this part of Washington where the summers last half the year with temperatures well into the nineties, if not worse. The shade offers almost no reprieve from the dry, desert-like air, so water’s the only real defense at battling the unbearable heat.
We didn’t have a pool growing up but we spent most afternoons at one of the three local rivers, cooling off. The boys would jump off anything with some height and thanks to my competitive nature, we’d end up diving off the highest cliffs we could find just to outdo each other.
We’re lucky we’re all still alive honestly.
“Someone can’t take their eyes off you.”
I twist to find Angela sitting on the edge a few feet away, soaking her legs. Her dark two-piece is stunning against her tan, thin frame. I’d expect every guy here to be hitting on her but Coty does a good job keeping them away with his ominous glare alone.
&nbs
p; Needless to say, girl time has been uneventful.
“Who?”
She juts her jaw out and I follow her line of vision to see an imposing Beckett watching from his chair. Every time I look over there, he’s watching. Waiting. For what though? What does he want from me? I haven’t had a drink this whole time so I know that’s not his problem.
Ignoring him and the feeling his gaze does, I dip my head back into the water, letting the water soak the long strands like I used to during my nightly bath time. It was the only time I could actually get the bathroom to myself away from my brothers. Forget sculpting your eyebrows or doing your hair, the boys didn’t give a shit about that stuff. They only wanted to pee and they didn’t care who was in there to see it.
It was hard having girl friends as a child that didn’t have siblings like I did. Hard because some of them would only use me to get to one of my brothers. Hard because I envied them so much sometimes it hurt to be around them. They had things I’d never had—new toys, makeup, privacy, freedom—and that somehow felt even worse. Hard, too, because they’d show a wicked sense of entitlement that I just couldn’t relate to. At fucking all. With four older siblings, nothing is only ever yours.
When I lift my head again, I settle my gaze on a tatted rocker standing against the fence, telling Angela, “This guy hasn’t stopped checking me out since I stepped through the gate.” I look at her briefly. “I’m guessing Beckett is an only child?”
Angela’s chest swells and my eyes narrow but she finally nods stiffly so I return my eyes to my own new pet.
“He’s not used to sharing what he’s deemed his,” I say more to myself than Angela.
I should’ve known. Stupid men, always trying to mark territory they have no business claiming. Too bad for Beckett, I’m not his or anyone else’s. I’m my own fucking woman and no matter who keeps my bed warm at night, I intend to keep it that way.
I jerk a nod at the Andy Black lookalike. He’s not exactly my type, a little too grimy, but I feel like getting dirty and he looks willing as he happily saunters over with a smile carving his mouth up. He crouches down directly in front of me at the pool’s edge, struggling a bit in skinny jeans tighter than the ones I own, and levels me with a simmering stare.
