My Fate for Yours

by Steph Campbell

  My Fate For Yours

  Steph Campbell

  Jolene Perry

  Dedications

  For Josh, Myriah, Annette, Jessica, Mason and Justin.

  We lost you too soon.

  -Jolene

  For Amber.

  You may not be family by blood, but you know

  everything about sisterly loyalty. Love you.

  xx, Steph

  a secret love

  a life lost too soon

  a destiny reversed

  you’ve met Tobin and Delia.

  This is Eamon’s story….

  tragedy:

  (trag•e•dy)

  1. a lamentable, dreadful, or fatal event or affair; calamity; disaster

  2. a literary composition, as a novel, dealing with a somber theme carried to a tragic conclusion.

  1

  Eamon

  I pause in the doorway of Carl’s bar, taking in the pathetic sight of my brother, Tobin, slouched over onto the wooden bar top, rolling a shot glass back and forth under his palm. This has become a ritual the last couple of months. Me finding him somewhere, drowning himself and his misery in a bottle of cheap booze.

  Tobin leans over to reach into the pocket of his jeans, and has to grasp onto the bar to steady himself. He puckers his mouth, and pulls his brows together, looking confused when he comes up empty handed. He scans the length of the bar, then stands up to peer over the counter to Rachel who called me to come and get his drunk ass. Again. A smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth as she pulls herself up off of the floor, and raises a knowing eyebrow, her dark hair hanging around her face.

  “Tobin LeJeune, you didn’t actually think I’d let you drive home after that last round, didya?” she says. Rachel’s known us both long enough to say just about anything, which means she tells us both like it is.

  “Rach, come on, you know it’s not that far. I’m good,” Tobin answers, the slur of his words, and the stumble when he gets up from his stool proving otherwise. It’s getting pathetic. He is. I’m not feeling as sorry for him as I did a few months ago, but I still gotta see him through this.

  Rachel frowns. “You’re crazy is what you are. If your mama knew you wanted to get behind the wheel of that truck drunk, she’d—”

  “I’m not drunk,” he says as he blinks a few times, still swaying a bit as he grasps the bar with one hand.

  I shove myself off of the doorframe, ready for this to be done.

  “Is that so, brother?” I say, slapping him on the back. “You’re looking pretty damn rough to me.”

  Tobin glares at me, but stands up to follow me out, knowing that resistance is futile. He may be just as big as me, but he’s still, and always will be, the little brother.

  “Thanks for keeping an eye on him, Rach,” I say with a wink. I shouldn’t do it, it’s only leading her on, but it’s habit. All ladies need a little attention, even ones you grew up with.

  “No problem,” Rachel says. She tosses me his keys and Tobin slouches into me, nearly knocking me down because the extra weight is unexpected. “Uh, do you need help with him?”

  I glance over my shoulder at Rachel’s tiny frame. She’s a Southern girl, which means she can handle her own, but there’s no way I’m letting her help drag my swaying, drunk brother out of here.

  “I’ve got it.” I shake my head. “Thanks again. I owe you.”

  “Someday, I’ll collect,” she says. She runs her tongue along her bottom lip, and I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s trying to be sexy. And she probably would be, if she weren’t Rachel. She may be standing there in those curve hugging jeans and a white tank top that’s practically painted on her, but she also used to help Tobin and I collect toads, and make Molotov cocktails. So sexy isn’t something I see when I look at Rachel. Maybe.

  I haul Tobin to Dad’s truck, which I’m forced to borrow since mine is at the bottom of the lake, and curse the entire time at him about how Jim Beam always turns him into dead weight.

  “You’re lucky Rachel got me on the phone, you know. I had a date,” I say, as I climb into the driver’s seat. A gorgeous girl, home in Rainy, one town over, and just back from college for a few days. She was perfect.

  “You always have a date. She’ll wait,” he says. He lets his head slump down a little and mumbles, “And thank you.”

  “Rachel said the next call she was going to make was going to be to Ma, since you’d been at that bar all damn day,” I say. I’m waiting for him to snap out of this. I keep thinking one day he’ll finally get that he’s mourning something that’ll never happen. His girl is gone, and she’s not coming back—at least not for him.

  Tobin groans as I negotiate a turn too fast for his comfort. Intentionally.

  “Spending all your time in Carl’s place, drinking away your money and your memories isn’t going to make her come back, T.”

  Tobin jerks his head off of the window and tries to scowl, but there’s too much whiskey in him for it to come off right. “I don’t want her back.”

  “Okay. Then what’s with all the booze? Taking up a new sport?”

  “Fuck off,” Tobin says as he scratches his head, turning his blond into an even bigger mess.

  “Easy little brother, or I’ll leave your drunk ass on Pop’s tailgate and he can deal with you in the morning.” I’m not sure if I’m ready to turn him over that way or not, but I’m getting close.

  Tobin winces. Maybe from the bumps in the road, but more likely because he may be twenty, but he still knows better than to screw with Mom and Dad.

  “Pull over,” he says.

  I don’t ask questions and steer the truck to the side of the road. He pops the door open and I expect him to hang his head out of Pop’s truck and let the last twenty-four hours’ worth of peanuts and booze come back up, but instead, he takes off running.

  “Tobin!” I yell after him. “Where the hell are you going?” I start to chase after him, but stop after about ten yards. Wherever he’s going, the last thing he wants is me around. This thing he’s working out is something he has to do on his own.

  ****

  Mom’s sitting at the table shelling pecans when I push through the old screen door that leads to the kitchen. Her eyes drift up as it creaks shut behind me. Tired, but happy eyes that haven’t changed a bit since I was a kid.

  “Mornin’ Eamon,” she says. She pauses to tuck a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear before shelling again.

  “Hey, Mama.” I walk across the room, bend down and kiss her on the cheek.

  “There’s hot coffee and beignets. Take those boots off in my house, Eamon LeJeune.” She goes quiet as I pull my work boots off and toss them into the corner of the room. I may be grown, but this is my mama’s house and I play by her rules. I take the seat across from her at the small kitchen table, and she stops shelling pecans and looks up. I could tell by her voice that there was something else she wanted to say. “Did your brother come home last night?”

  “I didn’t see him,” I say. It’s a purposely vague response. I didn’t see him…I haven’t seen him. Mama doesn’t realize it’s been three days since Tobin’s been home. Three days since he jumped out of Pop’s truck.

  She folds her hands on the tabletop and frowns. “It’s not like him to be staying gone like that. Where do you think he is?”

  “Ah, Ma, don’t worry so much. He probably just went night fishing or something,” I lie.

  “He’s still so upset about what happened with Delia.” She’s shelling pecans again, but with a bit more force this time. “Your daddy says I need to stay out of it, but I’m getting worried about him. Moping around. Staying out all night. All his clothes reeking of alcohol—”

&n
bsp; I let out a light chuckle. “Ma, give him a break. He’s twenty. He’s out having a good time. He’s fine. Really.”

  I stand up, grab a couple of warm beignets and wrap them in a paper towel, wondering how fine he can actually be after spending a few months drunk and now taking off for a few days unannounced.

  “Thanks for breakfast. I’ve got to get to work.” I hold my boots under my arm as I push backwards out the old screen door. “I’m sure Tobin will be there, too. But if not, I promise I’ll hunt him down when I get off.” And that damn word, promise, leaves my mouth, so I’ll need to put some effort into it.

  Mom looks relieved when I leave her, satisfied that I’ll be able to find Tobin and bring him home. It’s part of the reason I still basically live at home. Granted it’s an apartment over the detached garage, and my parents have some acreage out here, but it’s not my own place. If I wasn’t around, Mom would be worrying even more about Tobin and his piss-poor attitude, Dad working too much and probably even me. Not for the reasons she should be—the fact that I like to jump off of buildings sane people would scoff at, driving too fast and playing chicken on the tracks with Traive. She’d worry that I was lonely, since I never have a women in my life. There’s women, don’t get me wrong, but Ma thinks I’m old enough to be settling down with someone. For me, settling down is out of the question. My lame ass brother being exhibit number one as to why that’s not a good idea.

  Tobin isn’t at work. I’m not surprised, because as far as I know, he hasn’t come by the house to pick up any of his work gear, but it isn’t really like him to bail on the job, either.

  Instead of jumping into the project I need to finish today, I move through the big warehouse and work areas into the offices. The smell of metal dust and copper is always in the air here. The large metal building looks almost as new and clean as it did when it was built four years ago--one of the results of working for someone so meticulous.

  “What do you need, Eamon?” Jerry, my boss says.

  I lean against the doorframe and grin.

  Jerry’s eyes narrow. “That shit-eating grin don’t work with me, son. I’m not looking to date you like every lady in this town. What do you want?”

  “Tobin wasn’t here again today,” I say. “I was wondering if you’d heard from him?”

  “‘Course I did. He called beginning of the week, said he was taking his PTO. Wish he would’ve given me a little more notice, but it’s his time off to use.” Jerry shrugs. I swear his thinning hair is picking up speed. At this rate, Stine’s Welding will have him bald in a year or two.

  I let out a relieved breath I didn’t know I was holding. “When’s he coming back?”

  “Didn’t say for sure. The boy’s never taken a damn day off, though. He’s got a few weeks racked up he can use.”

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  Great. No idea where he is, or how long he’ll be gone.

  I’m supposed to go to the motocross track with Traive after work, but I guess that’ll have to wait. If I don’t get Tobin’s ass home soon, Mom is going to lose it. And dammit if he makes me break my promise to her.

  ***

  I pull into the gravel parking lot of Carl’s Bar and do a quick scan of the cars, looking for Tobin’s truck. I don’t see it, but he could have ridden with someone else. And at this point, I’m pretty well out of options. I’ve already been by all of the usual places I can think of, and Carl’s is a pretty safe bet since he never cards locals.

  “Hey, Eamon,” Carl says. He pops the cap off of a bottle of beer and slides it toward me. I slump onto a barstool. I worked all day, and now it’s after midnight and I’ve been all over creation looking for Tobin. I’m beat.

  “Thanks, man. I’m just stopping in, though,” I say, but I still take a long pull from the bottle. I glance over my shoulder, taking in the room, the wood walls, cheap posters, old pool table... No Tobin.

  “Ain’t no pretty ladies over there tonight, if that’s what you’re looking for. Just a bunch of rough-neck boys in from off shore.” Carl says with a chuckle. He knows me pretty damn well, and the nights that I come in here, I’m usually leaving with a girl. Maybe if Tobin could channel a little of that thinking, he’d be able to put this mess with Delia behind him. But Tobin isn’t built like me, and that’s both a good and bad thing. He’s got a softer heart, but just as protective of what he loves. There isn’t a thing on earth he wouldn’t do if he thought he stood a chance of winning that girl back. And that is exactly why I avoid relationships altogether. Too much trouble. Too much work. Too much drama. I tried to warn him from the get-go, but he fell right into the trap of love with Delia and hasn’t been himself since.

  “I’m just looking for my half-wit brother, you seen him?”

  Carl shakes his head. “Not in a few days. I haven’t been around a whole lot, though. Fixin’ to take off now. Rachel’s getting ice. Ask her when she comes back up front.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  I try unsuccessfully to pay Carl for the drink, but he never charges me for anything. I don’t know how he manages to stay in business, so I stuff a couple of bills into the metal tip jar after he leaves.

  I tip my head back to finish off the beer and wrack my brain, trying to think of where Tobin might be. This is stressing Ma out, which means it’s stressing me. If Tobin doesn’t show up soon, I’m liable to lose my shit when he does.

  2

  Rachel

  The first thing I see as I round the corner with that damn bucket of ice is Eamon, hunched over at the bar looking a little pitiful. That’s not like him. Crap.

  I’ve known Eamon since I was five. Back then, our mamas formed a playgroup and determined that we were destined to be friends. They said it was so, and it was. And knowing him for that long means that I know when he’s had a worse night than me.

  “Hey, Eamon,” I say. He stopped coming around after that night I broke up with Brett and sort of threw myself at him. It was an uncomfortable few months to say the least, but it’s been okay lately. It has to be. We’ve known each other forever. I’d be torn up if things stayed weird.

  “Rough night here?” he asks.

  “Just a bunch of guys who don’t ever look like they plan on leaving, even if I’ve been here sixteen hours already and my feet are killing me. Not any different than usual I guess.” I shrug and the strap of my tank top slides down my shoulder. I slip it back up, and can’t help but notice Eamon’s eyes are trained on that tiny strip of fabric.

  “Anyway,” I clear my throat, trying hard not to let on that I saw Eamon watching me. He notices every girl, but I already know where he and I stand. “You want anything else? I’m about to make last call.”

  He shakes his head. “No thanks, I actually just came by looking for Tobin. You haven’t seen him the last couple of days, have you?”

  I slide the ice drawer open, then dump the contents of the bucket into it. Ice clinks together and a few pieces jump out onto the counter. Eamon doesn’t pay any attention to the few stragglers in front of him. He’s biting his lip like he’s thinking hard.

  “Now that you mention it, no. Tobin hasn’t been in the last few days. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing,” I say with a smile, hoping it curbs his obviously frayed nerves. When he doesn’t acknowledge me, I yell out into the bar. “Last call!” The place has basically cleared out, but the few guys left scramble to the bar to get their last drops of alcohol to carry them through the rest of the night. I pop the tops off of beer bottles and fill mugs. Once they’ve stepped aside I dare to speak again. “He’s really not doing so well, is he?” Still. And the sick part is that some of me wonders what it would be like to love someone so much that being away from them tears you apart the way he’s torn.

  “Eh, he’ll be okay,” Eamon says. His voice is noncommittal and doesn’t match his demeanor. I hope like hell that’s the truth and that Tobin hasn’t gone off and done something stupid. Something that can’t be reversed.

  “Where do
you think he went? I mean, you’ve checked around town, right?” I wipe down the bar top and empty the dishes of peanuts into the garbage--the start of the routine that says I’ll see my bed soon.

  “I’ve looked everywhere, Rach. He jumped out of Dad’s truck the other night when I was driving him home, and ran off. I haven’t heard from him since.” Eamon shakes his head, like now that he’s said it out loud, it sounds even worse. Saying things out loud always makes them more real. He whispers the next words. “Damn you, Tobin.”

  I don’t know whether I’m supposed to hear them or not, so I sit in silence for a moment.

  “Wait,” I finally mutter. “Do you think he went to see her? I mean, could he have gotten there with nothing on him?”

  “Hell, I don’t know if I’d put anything past him where Delia is concerned. But I don’t know. D.C. is a helluva walk, that’s for sure.” Eamon always was baffled with Tobin and Delia. He loves her to pieces, we all do, but not a one of us expected that Delia Gentry would stick around Crawford—not even for a LeJeune boy.

  I run my finger along the edge of the bar and don’t look up at him. It’s been close to a year since Delia left, and about eight months since they both called the split. Eamon’s done a lot of taking care of his brother in that time. I know Tobin will repay him when he can, but he’s still got some serious damage over the situation.

  “I could call her, you know. I mean, if you want, I could just check,” I say.

  He tips his head to each side, his neck popping with the movement. I know it’s the last thing he wants me to do—call Delia. If Tobin isn’t there with her, all I’d be doing is opening up a whole new reel of drama between the two of them. Tobin and Delia were known for their drama. Fighting, making up, screaming matches, massive displays of PDA. Shoulda' stayed apart from the beginning, but they just couldn’t do it. Sometimes I get the feeling there was a lot more to their split than her moving away, but I don’t know Tobin well enough for him to share stuff like that with me. Eamon was quiet enough about the whole thing that I knew to leave it alone.