Time Mends

by Tammy Blackwell

  Looking at the picture though, I got an idea. It was possibly the worst idea I ever had, but I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit around and feel sorry for myself all night long.

  After I made my phone call, I started the impossible task of getting ready. It took me forever to find the curling iron and make-up kit Mom bought for me ages ago in the hopes I would develop an interest in something a bit more girly than martial arts or burying myself in books. Then there was the issue of actually working the curling iron and the millions of brushes and applicators whose life’s purpose I wasn’t entirely sure of. I was just finishing up when Ashley’s new Porsche pulled into my driveway, forty-five minutes after she said she would be there.

  “Holy shit, Scout!” Ashley screeched as I walked towards her car. “Is that you?”

  I have to admit, even I was a little shocked at my final results. My hair magically decided to do something other than just hang there. I followed the step-by-step instructions I found online for “smokey eyes” and “dramatic lips” and was painted up like a whore, but did a good enough job I looked expensive. The dress I borrowed from my mom’s closet helped with the “I’ll do anything you want as long as you give me $5,000 in cash first” vibe. It was a basic black Chanel dress, the only designer thing she owned. On her petite frame is was elegant and classy. It managed to stop nearly a foot above my knees.

  Somehow, though, it managed to cover more skin than the purple aluminum-tank-top-posing-as-a-dress thing Ashley was wearing. “Damn girl, you look fine! Almost dying did wonders for your figure. You’re so skinny!” Sadly, she meant it as a compliment.

  “You don’t think it’s too much?” I tugged on the bottom of my dress. “Or too little?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m totes jelly.”

  “And I toast and jelly your outfit, too. It matches the… are those feathers in your hair?”

  Ashley doubled over in a fit of giggles. “Oh my God, Scout, I forgot how funny you are.”

  “Yeah, I’m considering a career in stand-up,” I muttered as I tried to figure out how to get in the car and fake an abdominal injury without enlightening the world as to the exact nature of Victoria’s secret.

  “Absolutely not. I forbid it.” The tires on the Porsche squealed as she slung it into reverse. “No self-respecting future model is friends with a female comedian. Unless it’s Ellen, of course.”

  The drive to McGuire's should have taken an hour, but Ashley managed to make it in thirty-three minutes flat. I knew this because she clocked herself with the stop-watch app on her iPhone.

  “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to do this,” I said as she slid the car into a parking spot so quickly my seat belt came dangerously close to cutting me in two. It was a stupid idea for a myriad of reasons, the top two being we were nowhere close to the twenty-one minimum age requirement, and it was not in the confines of Lake County. I could see how the next ten minutes of my life was going to pan out: The bouncer was going to laugh in our faces, and then Toby would show up, take me out back, and put a bullet in my skull. This is the sort of things that happened to girls who tried to break the rules. I was sure of it.

  “Don’t be such a chicken. I do this all the time.”

  I might have found comfort in that if I didn’t know that Ashley had a problem with the truth, like her tendency to stretch and recreate it to suit her needs. “I do this all the time” could have meant anything from “I got away with it once” to “I do this all the time in my fantasy world.”

  I reluctantly allowed her to drag me out of the car. The first thing I noticed about the guy at the door was that he had a tattoo of a snake wrapped around his arm with the head of the snake curled around an apple on the back of his hand. It was unique and strangely poetic, which was the exact same way I would have described it’s owner, Kit Berkley.

  It had been at least six years since I last saw Kit. At the time he was one of those teenage boys who managed to grow an entire foot over night, thereby losing anything resembling coordination with his newly elongated limbs. He was a shy guy who preferred books to people, a trait with which I could definitely identify. We often debated what constituted high literature, me arguing on the side of a mix of intelligence and creativity while Kit was more of a beautiful language and Important Message kind of guy. He was a really sweet boy.

  The person guarding the door of the only bar outside of Nashville a decent person would be caught dead in looked like he might rip your tongue out for calling him sweet.

  “Ash!” He wrapped his arms around my partner in crime, a smile of absolute delight on his face.

  “K-Bro, how goes it?” She was giggling as he lifted her in the air. I tried not to notice that she was wearing a pair of blue and pink polka-dotted panties.

  He sat her back down and looked me over. “Scout Donovan? Is that you?”

  “In the flesh.” And a little black dress, but mostly just flesh. Lots and lots of exposed flesh.

  “You certainly grew up nice and pretty, not that I ever doubted that you would.” He gave me a pat, which didn’t feel insulting coming from him. Not that I would have done much about it if it had. He was acting like Old Kit at the moment, but you never knew when the ‘roid rage would kick in.

  “And you grew… Well, you certainly grew.”

  Kit laughed and patted his somewhat paunchy belly. “Up and out.” He gave Ashley’s shoulders a squeeze. “What are two pretty girls like you up to tonight?”

  “Scout needs a night out.” Ashley constructed a face that so convincingly portrayed concern even I almost believed her. “It’s time she started having fun again.”

  You know that I feel really crappy about what happened to you but even crappier about the fact I now have to feel all awkward because of it look people get after you’ve been through something super sucky? That was the look Kit gave me. “Oh yeah. I’m real sorry about all that stuff that happened to you. That was rough.”

  He didn’t even know half of if. “I’m getting better,” I lied.

  “Here, you girls go on in. Tell Bobby at the bar that your drinks are all on me tonight, okay?”

  “Thanks, Kit.” Ashley gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek before grabbing my hand and dragging me through the door. “You’re the best big brother ever!”

  The inside of the building was dark, and it took me a second to adjust. It was just two days past the new moon, so my night vision wasn’t working so well. “Big brother? His dad was married to your mom for literally six months when we were in middle school.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s not my brother anymore.”

  “I think it does.”

  “Scout, that’s not how it works. Once a brother, always a brother.”

  “But you dated Gabe Riggs.”

  “So?”

  “So, his dad was married to your mom for like two whole years.” Which was pretty much a record for Ashley’s mom, who had married half the men in Lake County. Well, half the men with an annual income well into the upper ranges of six figures.

  Ashley sashayed up to the bar, winking at an old man who nearly fell of out his chair checking out the way her micro-mini skirt clung to her butt. “That was different. Gabe and I never bonded. Kit and I did.”

  “And Gabe couldn’t get you into clubs and buy you free drinks.”

  She gave me a quick scowl before turning to the attractive Latino man who stood behind the bar. “Hey, Bobby. Kit’s buying drinks for me and my friend tonight. Ain’t that nice of him?”

  “Precious.” I liked Bobby. It was the combo of exotic beauty and sarcasm delivered with a shocking Southern drawl that did it.

  “I want a fuzzy navel. Scout?”

  I’ve never drank alcohol before. I know, what normal American high school graduate hasn’t been plastered at least once, right? But drinking never appealed to me, especially witnessing the effect if had on Charlie’s family. But, like the good nerd I am, I did a bit of research online before waltzing into a bar.r />
  “Long Island Iced Tea, please,” I ordered as casually as I could with my hands shaking like they were. I just knew he was going to ask for ID.

  Ashley waited until he walked off to turn on me. “LIT? Seriously?”

  “Yeah, I like those.” Assuming that LIT stood for Long Island Iced Tea. And basing that assumption on the fact that I like iced tea, as long as it has lots of sugar in it. When I saw it on the list of the ten most popular drinks ordered in a bar, I decided it was the one for me.

  “LIT? The drink with like four different kinds of hard liquor in it?”

  Four different kinds of hard liquor? Crap. I should have done better research.

  “Yep. LITs and Scout. They go together like rum and Coke.” Which was totally what I should have ordered. At least it only had rum.

  “Here you ladies go,” Bobby said in his adorable twang. “Enjoy.”

  There was little chance of that happening.

  I took a tentative first sip and had to fight the urge to spit it out. It tasted like liquid nasty and burned the entire way down.

  “How is your LIT?”

  “Good.” I cleared my throat, hoping that would make the pain stop. “Bobby mixes a mean drink.” So mean it had teeth and wasn’t afraid to use them.

  She clanked her glass of what looked like harmless orange juice against mine. “To a night of fun.”

  “To us,” I murmured through gritted teeth. She took a big swig of her drink. I braced myself and did the same. Amazingly, the second swig was easier. And the third even easier. By the time I started my second glass, I could manage it without making a face.

  “Maybe you should slow down a little,” Ashley said as I took a big gulp. “Downgrade to a more light-weight drink? You would like Amaretto Sours.”

  “I like these,” I said, shouting to be heard over the band that had begun to play some music that sounded like Billy Joe Armstrong and Barbara Streisand got together and had a tone-deaf child. “And I feel fine.”

  “Really, Scout. You should drink some water or something.”

  Now, that did sound like a good idea. Water would keep a hang-over away. I didn’t want a hang-over.

  “Bobby, I need water and another LIT,” I said as I chugged down half my current glass.

  “Scout, really—”

  “I’m fine. Sheriously.” I giggled. “I said sheriously, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, because you’re drunk.”

  “It’s just a buzz. I can’t get drunk. Who has ever heard of a drunk werewolf?”

  “Is this some Twilight thing? Because you know I skipped that whole craze.”

  I laughed again and the motion made me realize my bladder was on the verge of bursting. “I gotta pee! Where’s the bathroom in this place?”

  She nodded to a dark corner on the other side of the room. McGuire's was a fairly posh place for such a rural area. The big, open room was divided into three areas - the bar, the dance floor/stage, and a section that reminded me of a coffee house with its plush couches and dark wood tables. I was trying to slide between two of the couches when a coffee table stuck out its leg and tripped me. I managed to not land, as Grandma Donovan would have phrased it, ass over tea kettle on the floor. Instead, I sort of just sat down… in the lap of some guy with a crew cut.

  “Sorry. The table was out to sabotage me,” I slurred as I waited for the room to right itself.

  “It’s alright.” He looked way too young to be hanging out at a club, but I wasn’t one to talk. He also seemed to be glowing red.

  “Hey, you’ve got elf ears.” I touched the tip of an ear that come up into a little point. “How cute. Hey, you’re not really an elf are you? Do you work for Santa Claus?”

  “N-n-no, ma’am.”

  “Are you sure? You can tell me.” I leaned over and whispered in his pointy ear. “I’m special too.”

  One of the elf’s friends, a squatty looking guy whose parents obviously didn’t love him enough to spend money on an orthodontist, was ogling my pasty white legs which were sprawled, rather unladylike, over the elf’s own set of legs. I quickly corrected that problem. “You certainly look special,” he said with a wink.

  “I’m not talking to you, ogre. Me and the elf were conversing privately.”

  The ogre boy chuckled and punched his friend on the shoulder. “Hear that, Cayton? She wants to converse with you. Privately.”

  Just when you thought there was no way a person could turn any redder, the elf proved you wrong.

  “Hey, maybe you’re a Shifter and you Change into a pointy-eared animal. Are there fox Shifters? You could be a fox.” Foxes are red.

  “I-I-I’m just a soldier, ma’am.”

  I knew lots of soldiers, but most of them were pompous asses. Maybe the “not an elf or a fox” boy was different because of his stutter. I wondered if Toby would have been a bit more bearable with a stutter.

  “You’re not an elf?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “And you would not Shift into a fox, not in a box, not wearing socks?”

  “N-n-no, ma’am.”

  I sighed. “Then I have no use for you.” I tried to get up and only managed it with some assistance. “Thanks,” I said once I was fully erect. “It was nice meeting you and your cute ears.”

  He tried to stammer out a reply, but he was having all sorts of problems with his stutter. I felt bad for him. I hoped the other soldiers didn’t make fun of him too much.

  I made it to the bathroom without further incident, unless you count having trouble turning the door knob, which I do not. I decided to cut back to the bar through the dance floor to avoid any further run ins with the ornery furniture. I was winding my way through a mass of bodies I’m sure hadn’t been there just moments before when I got the feeling someone was watching me. I looked around and found a pair of grey eyes trained on me.

  “Excuse me. Let me through.” I started pushing people aside, no longer concerned about being polite. I had more important issues to address. “Move. I have to talk to him. I have to tell him I’m sorry.” Why wouldn’t people let me through?!?!

  He was already gone by the time I made it through the crowd.

  “Who are you looking for?” Ashley asked, sneaking up beside me. I cursed the new moon and the noise of the club. I hate being snuck up on.

  “No one. I thought I saw someone I knew once.”

  “Well, I’ve found you someone new to know.” She wound an arm around my back and led me back towards the bar. “I need you to do me a favor, okay?”

  “Sure.” Why not? Unless it involved sacrificing babies, I was game.

  “Can you try really hard to be nice? I know it’s hard for you, but if you could be a little less Scout-like, I would really appreciate it. These guys are super-cute, and I don’t want you scaring them away.”

  I was offended. “I’m always nice. And I don’t scare people.”

  Ashley smiled sweetly and patted my back where her hand was resting. “Of course not, sweetie. You’re always sunshine and rainbows.”

  I was going to sunshine and rainbows her face if she didn’t watch it.

  I was also going to have to get her to visit an optometrist. After seeing what she qualified as “super-cute” I was fairly certain her lasik surgery had worn off and she needed to reconsider the glasses she ditched years ago.

  “Scout.”

  “Makya.” No growl. No right hook. See? Friendly.

  Ashley’s face fell. “You guys know each other?”

  “Makya is Jase’s cousin.” And a member of the Hagan Pack. I could take him, but he would call Toby faster than you could say “severe punishment”. And as Bambi’s mama proved, I was incapable of shutting him up permanently.

  “Yeah, me and Harpy here go waaaay back.”

  Or, then again, maybe I could manage it.

  “Oh, so you’re that Makya,” Ashley said, grabbing onto his bicep with the hand that wasn’t already hooked into what I hoped was the belt loop and not the
pocket of the poor creature who must have been Makya’s friend. “Scout has told me soooo much about you.”

  I gave her a What the crap? look. She responded with a Play along or else! glare.

  Makya’s smile was feral. “That’s our Scout. Quite the little chatter box.”

  Ashley tilted her head back and gave a tinkling laugh which I knew for a fact she practiced just as Bobby placed a fresh glass of booze in front of me. I vowed to give him the entire contents of my wallet as a tip.

  “So, you want to dance?”

  He had to wait for my reply since I was a little busy guzzling down some alcohol goodness. “Umm…not really,” I said as I wiped my upper-lip. I felt Ashley’s boney elbow dig into my rib. “I meant, I’m not really a very good dancer.”

  “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  “I don’t really—”

  Makya’s eyes narrowed. “I want to dance, Scout.” He jerked me against him in a move I hadn’t seen coming. “It’ll be in your best interest to do what I want, Wolf Girl,” he breathed into my ear. “I would hate to have to tell my Packmates about how you broke my heart. They might take exception to you being outside of your territory.”

  In my head I called him every single bad name I could think of, including a few I made up on the spot.

  “Okay. I’ll dance.”

  He pulled back just enough so I could see the smugness bleeding out of every pore on his face. “Don’t make it sound like you’re agreeing to be tortured. My ego is a fragile thing, you know.”

  If I dropped his body into the lake near the dam no one would ever find it.

  “I would love to dance with you.”

  “Better, but I’m going to need a smile, okay?”

  Hell no. “This better?” I asked, using every ounce of energy I had to pull up the corners of my mouth. Those people who say it takes more muscles to frown than smile are in serious danger of having their pants catch on fire.

  Surprisingly, dancing with Makya wasn’t as bad as I imagined. I’m normally very self-conscious about the whole moving to music thing, but the band was loud and rhythmic and my body seemed to respond of its own accord. Since Makya just danced and didn’t run his stupid mouth, it was almost bearable. That was until the band started playing a song that was less pounding and more sultry. Makya closed the space between us, and soon his hands were attempting to be everywhere at the same time.