by Racquel Reck
Hammer swinging wildly, I miss a few times and put a baseball-sized hole in the thin plywood of my piece-of-shit workbench. I’m still not satisfied. Fury takes over every swing, my control gone with the woman who walked out my door. I blast Moby, my water bong, into a million pieces. "I hate you!"
Adrenalin surges. Fury pounds.
The only woman who’s better than anyone I know, better than me, is gone. The only one who gave a shit. Who’s selfless and kind. Who makes me feel like I need to be better. Stronger. She’s been through so much; she shouldn’t have to go through more. I shouldn’t have put her through more. I was selfish, greedy for her love, and kept quiet about my addiction because I was afraid I’d lose her. I betrayed her and she hates me.
"I fucking love you, Shay!" I whip the hammer at my locker that houses my pot supply. It bounces back. I duck. In less than a second, glass shatters. My Hummer’s car alarm goes off.
"Shit, Morg!"
Slowly I stand up and peer through the passenger side’s busted window.
Wiley grabs my key fob off the hook on the wall and hits a button, silencing the wailing. He cocks a brow. "What the hell is going on with you, man?"
Taking a deep breath I run a hand through my hair and eye the destruction. My temper has never gotten a hold of me like that. One glance at the bag Shay whipped at my face and the answer slams back into me. But my fury is gone with the regret for something I’ve lost. Whether it’s Shay, my control, my addiction, or my mind, is yet to be determined.
My breath saws in and out as my heart tries to slow down.
Wiley rounds my bumper and whistles. "Damn, I’ve never seen you wig like this before, bro."
"I wasn’t wigging out." Crunching glass, I go over to my workbench and grab the push broom.
"Uh-huh." Wiley inspects the huge hole. "So you thought you’d put a trap door in your workbench?"
The damn thing was so old and rickety I was going to scrap it anyway.
"I don’t want to talk about it." I begin sweeping up the glass, hoping Wiley will ignore my flip-out.
He sucks in a breath and shakes his head. He assesses me for a minute then he grabs a hand broom and starts sweeping up the glass covering the bench.
A couple of minutes go by in silence. I finish sweeping the glass into a dustpan, and Wiley throws the last of The Caterpillar’s tubing in the garbage. He eyes it. "Sure am going to miss the bugger. It was a nice hookah."
I ignore him and begin picking long shards off my passenger seat.
Wiley comes over with a garbage bag and duct tape. "Do you want me to call the guys and tell them that practice is off?"
We need to practice. Tomorrow night we have a recording session scheduled with Emily at her studio, and we need to be up to par. I shake my head. "Nah. I’m good now."
"Are you sure?" Wiley tears off a strand of duct tape and begins securing a garbage bag to my window. "Because that was a mighty big declaration I heard as I entered your house."
"Fuck you, man." Does he want to see me flip out again?
"I’m just saying. I’ve never seen you like this. But I saw this coming from the ski slopes."
What? "I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about."
"You and Shay."
My blood burns. I fight to suppress the words I have for the guy who wants to see me lose my cool again. Fuck him. Need the vacuum. No way will I be able to pick up all the glass on the seat. I busted it into a gazillion pieces.
"She got to you. I never thought I’d see you wrapped up in some chick."
"Like you and Renna?" I snap. The look on Wiley’s face extinguishes my temper.
A vein in Wiley’s neck bulges. His nostrils flare. "What the fuck does that—"
"Forget it." It was a low blow on my part. But if anyone can understand what I’m going through, it would be Wiley. I head into the house.
My body gets plowed into my fridge.
"I was with Renna for three years. You were with Shay for a couple of weeks." Wiley’s pushing my face into the cool stainless steel.
"Get off me!" I try to push off the fridge, and he slams me back into it.
"It’s not the same thing." Wiley’s voice is a low growl. "Asshole."
"I’m sorry." And I am. I didn’t mean to provoke him, to make his head go there. It’s been almost eighteen years since it happened. Judging by the cool steel smashed up against my face, Wiley never got over it. I’m such a dick. "I’m sorry, dude. Truce?"
His grip on me loosens, then he backs away.
Cautiously, I turn.
Wiley runs a hand through his tawny-colored hair. "Look, I didn’t mean to flip."
"It’s all right. I deserved it. I should have never brought up—"
"Forget it." He smiles and shakes his head. "You murdered the crap out of your bongs because you love Shay." He laughs.
"I never said I loved Shay."
Wiley laughs harder and grips the counter as he bends down. "Yeah." More laughter. "You did."
Did I? Do I? Images of last night roll through my mind: her smiles and laughter, us in bed, her face while I was above her, in her. The emotions I felt, and then her running this morning. She sounded so sure that she is done. My chest aches and I rub my sternum. My wig-out in the garage. Everything I said while I was smacking the hammer around. Shit. I’m in trouble. My jaw drops.
Wiley’s hand lands on my shoulder. He’s still laughing like a hyena. This is Wiley’s way of coping with the memories I brought up, his way of de-stressing—laughing at something that really isn’t that funny. "Sweet fucking torture, isn’t it?"
I swallow a lump in my throat and nod.
Wiley grabs my vacuum out of my pantry. "Come on, I’ll help you clean up before the guys get here."
I love Shay. How in the hell can I love her? How did that happen? I follow Wiley out into the garage and pick up the bag of weed. It wasn’t my love for pot that tripped me out. It was the thought of losing the one I love. And this bag, my addiction, was the cause of it. I chuck it in the garbage.
"Morg?" Wiley looks up from plugging in the vacuum. "What the hell are you doing? That was—"
"The thing that made me lose Shay. I don’t want it anymore." I take a deep breath, feeling liberated. I’ll get her back. I don’t need the drug to give me strength and courage. Shay’s my new drug. "In fact, I fucking hate it."
Wiley eyes the garbage can. "Then do you mind if I have your stash? Your medical shit’s grade A. Seems like a waste to throw it away."
"Have at it. Take the whole supply in the locker, if you want. I quit for a week last time. I can do it again. It will be easier with it out of the house."
Wiley dives for the weed, and I pick up the vacuum to begin cleaning up the mess on the Hummer’s passenger seat, hoping that I can clean up the shards of my love life just as easily.
Shay
Outside Tryst’s door, I take a deep breath and smooth my hair. After I tore out of Morgan’s, I had to drive around for a while. I couldn’t go over to Tryst’s all worked up with a bright red, slobbery face. He’d want to know what’s up, and I don’t need the I-told-you-sos. Ben doesn’t need to know that something’s wrong, either.
Morgan lied to me, just like Gary. He may not be him, but he still hid the pot from me. I can’t be with a pothead. Not when I have a son and a baby on the way.
I can’t stay out here all day freezing my butt off. Pulling myself together, I go inside.
The smell of pancakes hits my nose. My stomach growls.
"We’re in the kitchen." His voice sounds a little harsh. I’m two hours late and it’s time to face the music.
Tryst is at the sink doing dishes.
"Smells good. I’m starving."
Tryst pauses with a glass in his hand, mid-rinse. His back is stiff and after a second he goes back to his task. Odd. He shouldn’t be that mad at me. I’ll have to make it up to him somehow.
"Mom!" Ben hops up from the kitchen table and almost knocks me over.
"How’s the baby?"
I freeze. Shit. I never told Tryst and forgot to tell Ben that I wanted to be the one to tell him. I sneak a peek at Tryst.
He grabs a towel and wipes his hands, then turns and scowls at me. "Ben, go pack your stuff."
Ben smiles up at me. "Uncle Tryst took me to Gamerz last night. We had so much fun, and I got a lot of stuff."
"That’s great, Duders." I pat his head. "Take your time packing it all up, and make sure you remember to grab everything."
"I will." He smiles and darts off to the room.
My skin tingles as though there’s an army of ants marching under it. Tryst glares at me. For a moment I’m anticipating a lecture, but he shakes his head and goes to grab Ben’s plate from the table.
I play with the hem of my black pea coat.
Tryst silently goes about cleaning his kitchen. I watch him the whole time. He wants to yell at me—I can feel it. It’s like a charge in the air readying to ignite. He says nothing. He’s treating me like he treats everyone else. Cold. And that hurts almost as bad as finding the pot in Morgan’s drawer.
"Thanks for watching Ben so I could talk to Morgan last night."
He nods. Still with the silent treatment.
"I was going to tell you." I place a hand on his shoulder and he shrugs it off.
He presses the buttons on the dishwasher, then grabs a wet rag.
"Please, talk to me?"
He glances up from the counter he’s wiping that already looks immaculate, and stares out the window. "There’s nothing to talk about."
"But–"
"Ben!" He leaves me and stalks toward his guest bedroom. "Do you need any help?"
Okay, so I ticked him off. Tryst will get past it. He could never stay mad at me for long. This is just going to take some time.
Tryst comes out of the guest room with a huge husky stuffed animal about the size of my son. "Ben’s almost finished packing up his drawing equipment. Follow me to your car."
Oh good. I sigh. He’s not too mad at me.
Outside I open my hatch back. "I’m sorry."
Tryst tosses the stuffed animal and Ben’s backpack inside. "Whatever."
"Tryst, come on.” My shoulders droop. “Don’t be like that."
He finally looks at me although he won’t meet my eyes. "Be like what?"
"You’re acting weird."
"Don’t know whatcha talking about."
"You–"
"You’re pregnant. So what? Nothing I have to say will change that.” He slams the hatch down. “You don’t listen to me anyway.”
"I do list–"
"No. You don’t. Otherwise wouldn’t be pregnant." He runs a hand over his shaved head and scratches the back of his neck. Then his brown eyes meet mine and his soften. "God, Shay. You almost had it. You’re just on the cusp of getting you and Ben away from that douche bag. Babies cost money. You’re struggling enough as it is. Why the hell didn’t you use protection?"
And there it is. I should be pissed about his lecture. I’m not, because for a second there I thought I lost my cousin. "We did use protection. It broke."
Tryst shakes his head. "And does Morgan know?"
"Of course Morgan knows." I place my hand on his shoulder. "That’s why I needed to talk to him."
"But you said you were going over there to tell him you guys needed to chill. You don’t want him to be the father. Do you? Are you keeping it?"
"You know I am. And no. I don’t want him to be the father. I already have one baby daddy, and look how well that’s working for me." Tears spill from my eyes. I’m lying to myself. I want Morgan to be there for the baby, but he’s a pothead. No matter how good he may be to me and Ben, or this baby, I shouldn’t have let last night happen.
"Are you nuts? Morgan is nothing like Gary. I’ve spent three days a week with the dude for a month, rehearsing and recording. Trust me when I say Morgan’s a good guy."
Which brings up another point and my heart hits the pavement. Morgan lied about his pot use. Did Tryst lie too? "Morgan’s a pothead."
Tryst flinches.
"You knew?"
Tryst’s front door slams and Ben comes running up. "I think I got it all." He looks from me to Tryst. "What’s going on?"
Not going into that. "Nothing, Duders. Hop in the car. We have a busy day. We need to go to the grocery store."
Ben doesn’t say anything and does as I ask. I can’t look at Tryst. He’s never lied to me before. If this is because of Morgan’s influence, I was right in running away from him. Hopefully, Tryst will see it and run from him, too.
My shoulder clips Tryst as I walk around to my side of the car.
He grabs my arm. "Shay—"
"Don’t. I can’t even look at you right now. Pot. Pot, Tryst? Do you smoke?"
He says nothing and an eerie feeling creeps up inside me. A steel wall slowly comes down between us.
"It’s not that bad."
"Not that bad?" I want to shake the shit out of him and ring some sense into his thick skull. "Not that bad? I have Gary threatening to take Ben. Pretty soon I’m going to have social workers all over my ass digging into everything I do and everyone Ben and I hang around. Pot maybe legal for medicinal purposes in this state, but who the hell knows the rules when it comes to custody cases?" And I make a quick mental note to research it. I love Tryst. But I can’t have him in my life if he smokes pot. I can’t risk my son. Ben’s more important to me than they will ever be.
"Morgan has a prescription for it." He lets go of my arm. "Don’t judge him."
"He may have a script." I point my finger in his face. "But you don’t. And if you want to continue smoking pot, well… well..."
"Well what?” Tryst crosses his arms and glares at me. “You giving me an ultimatum?"
I nod and open my door.
He doesn’t try to stop me and doesn’t say anything. I can see the Ferris wheel of thoughts spinning around in his head. Fuck him. I slam my door and start the engine. My hands shake with the need to hit something. I white knuckle the steering wheel and back out of his driveway. It takes everything I have not to peel away from the curb as I head down the street.
"Why does Uncle Tryst look so sad?"
I look in the rearview, but I don’t see what my son sees. Tryst has already turned to go into his house. Fuck. My life is spinning so far out of control I want to vomit and crash and not wake up until the next lifetime. But I can’t. I have kids. One in the back seat and one growing inside. And for them I’ll take on the vertigo of my life.
Morgan
Wiley’s drums and Bryan’s bass mix with the tone of Lina’s keyboard. They’re warming up and I should be singing. I’m not.
Wiley might’ve calmed me down, but my leg doesn’t want to stop bobbing. I stand from the couch and stretch them. Looking down at the lyrics to the song, they’re nothing but a jumble of words. My mind can’t focus. My skin is too tight, like my bones want to bust out of it. Shit. I need my weed. I won’t do it though. I said I would quit for Shay. I have to. I’m going to get her back. I can’t do that while high.
I plop back down on the couch.
The drums stop, and Wiley looks over at me. "Where the fuck is Tryst?"
How the hell should I know? He was supposed to be here half an hour ago. Shay told him what happened, no doubt. I groan and run a hand through my hair. My jacked-up personal life might’ve cost us a member.
"He just sent me a text." Bryan looks down at his phone. "About ten minutes ago. Must not have heard it. He says he’ll be a little late."
Relief, but not enough to calm my craving. I flick the lyrics in my hand across the couch. What did she tell him? He’s her best friend and she was really upset when she left. Tryst will take her side, that’s a given. He warned me to tell her about my ganja use.
The door to my sound room crashes open. It bounces off the padded wall and crashes closed.
Tryst.
Nostrils flaring, brown eyes flashing, every m
uscle in his body taut and bulging.
"What the fuck, man?"
"About fucking time."
"Whoa."
Wiley, Bryan and Lina all say in unison.
Tryst schools his features and sets his guitar case down. All the rage seems to leave his body, but I know it’s still there. His glare narrows in on me as he stalks over to the couch.
Shit. Here we go. I’ve been expecting this confrontation since Wiley calmed me down earlier. I stand.
"I–" Sharp pain explodes in my jaw and the couch catches me.
"Shit!" Wiley is up and across the room before I can tell him to stop. Bryan flanks him. Lina stares, all open mouth and big eyes.
My fucking jaw is throbbing.
"You told Shay I smoke?" Tryst’s voice is eerily calm.
Man, does that guy have a fist of steel, or what?
"I said nothing about you smoking." I rub my jaw. "She found my stash."
He points a finger in my face. "You and your goddamn addiction just got me into a whole heap-load of shit. I don’t give a fuck what the hell you do. Snort rails off your soundboard for all I care. But don’t fuck with my cousin. I warned you what would happen. And you fucking knocked her up."
"Damn, bro." Bryan shakes his head.
Wiley slowly approaches Tryst. "She’s either lying or slept with someone else, ’cause Morg’s not stupid enough to knock a bitch up. And you could’ve told Shay."
Tryst takes a swing at Wiley’s gut.
Wiley goes down.
Damn, if the guy wasn’t so pissed off at me I’d high five him because I wanted to hit Wiley, too. Shay’s not like that and him insinuating it makes me want to choke him.
"Wiley’s right." Bryan creeps up behind Tryst. "If your cousin found out you took a hit here and there, that’s your own damn fault for keeping it from her."
Tryst looks behind him.
Bryan steps back, throwing up his hands. "She’s not a slut though."
Smart.
Cool my boys got my back, but I’m the one who put Tryst in this messed up position. I stand and put my hands behind my back. "Hit me again."
Tryst turns his head and arches a brow.
"I want you to. I fucked up. I owe you."
