by S. M. Soto
I shout over the stream, trying to use my hands to cover my eyes, and block most of it from my face.
“I told you to shut off the fucking water!”
With her hair plastered to her head and face resembling a soaked dog, she yells back through narrowed slits, “I thought I did!”
“Hurry up and stand here and try to cover this with a towel!” I yell, while trying to maneuver her, so she can stop the water flow, until I can get out there and shut off the water manually. She loses her footing on the way, though, because one second, she’s standing upright, and the next, she’s slipping and sliding like a fucking cartoon character. Her arms flail, her face morphing into a comical expression of fear, and she lets out a scream, reaching out to me for support.
I lose my balance, my booted foot slipping in a puddle of water on the floor, and we both topple to the ground. I try to take the brunt of the fall and pull her on top of me, so I don’t crush her. My back slams against the tile, and for one moment, we pause our hysterics and stare at each other. A solid beat passes between us, frissons of electricity coursing through the dense air. Then suddenly, she’s giggling. Both of us are soaked to shit, and she’s laughing. Practically rolling with hysterics.
I try not to focus on the fact that I have her hot, wet, delectable body on top of mine. I want to slide my hands down her body and feel each one of her curves. Instead, I do the opposite. Summoning that façade I’ve been holding on to like a lifeline, I shoot her a glare, and I watch with rapt attention, as the smile slowly drops from her face and realization sets in.
“Fucking Christ!” I growl, pushing off the wet floor, all while trying to maintain my balance. The entire way out of her house to shut off the water, I have to adjust my swollen cock.
Fucking Christ is right. I’m so fucked.
Who gets a hard-on during a time like this?
For fuck’s sake.
Once I’m able to shut off the water outside, I step back in and take in the hell that is now her bathroom. It looks horrible. Like someone let the bathtub overflow with water. I blow out a defeated sigh.
“I’ll start cleaning this up. Just bring me some towels, so we can soak most of it.”
She’s quiet, too quiet. I realize, much too late, when I fix my gaze on her that I might’ve been too harsh when I snapped at her. Her cheeks are coated red, likely with the embarrassment of me being a dick to her, and her eyes look a little sad. Despite the fact that I’m the one who put it there, I find that I hate that look on Olivia. And though I shouldn’t, I know I’d do anything I can to make her feel better.
Letting my guard down, just enough to make her feel better, I drop the act. A smile curls the corners of my lips and surprise lights her eyes at the effect of it. I take in her appearance, and suddenly, I’m the one who has to hold back my laughter.
“I wish I could say I’ve seen worse, but…well, I haven’t.”
She frowns, and when realization dawns on her face, she swings to look at herself in the mirror and gasps. Her mascara is streaking down her cheeks, and she looks like a raccoon that’s been run over and left in the wild for days.
Once most of the water is cleaned up, I head home to search for another elbow cap to help with the water pressure. When I’m finally finished for the day, I glance outside, realizing night has fallen. Olivia walks over sheepishly. The gratitude is written all over her face, and it makes me uncomfortable. It wasn’t a huge deal—what I did here today. She doesn’t need to get all emotional about it or read into it, any more than necessary.
“You should be fine for now. I’d leave the plug on it, just until I can come finish the rest.”
She nods. “Got it. I’ll keep the plug on. Are you…hungry? I mean, you worked a long time. I can call something in, or we can stop for something. My treat, of course.”
The hopeful flare in her eyes gives me pause. If things were different, if my life was different, I might find that gleam attractive. I might find myself wanting to take her up on that offer, but I can’t. That’s just not my reality.
Chances are, I’ll never be able to have that life. Not until I know Ryder is safe, and he’s permanently back in my care again.
“I’m good.”
Her mouth snaps shut, and she purses her lips thoughtfully, for a second, before she starts nodding slowly, as though she’s trying to process. I can tell by her expression she wants to say more but decides not to. She forces a smile and walks me out.
Before I leave, Olivia stops me at the door, with her hand on my wrist, keeping me from leaving. Slowly, I turn and direct my focus to her hand on my skin. Every cell and neuron in my body begins vibrating. I feel her touch deeply, as if she’s somehow latched onto the bone, bypassing all the outer layers of skin. With one touch alone, she’s managed to get under my skin, ingraining her touch and the soft feel of her skin in my mind. I feel her delicate hands, the soft pads of her fingers, within the darkest depths of my soul; her touch is incinerating. I feel it everywhere. The talons of attraction have pierced my skin and lodged deep enough that they’ll never come lose, not ever.
Something passes between us at that moment, something tangible that we both feel. I can practically fucking taste it. It’s trouble. A tremor travels down my spine, at the premonitions rolling through my body. I try to brush aside the sensations, the way her touch is making me feel. I try to make it seem like it’s nothing at all when, really, this moment, right here, standing over the threshold of her house with her hand on me, feels like everything.
Slowly, I detach myself from her grip, and she clears her throat, realizing we’ve been staring at one another without speaking for far too long. An inviting pink rises to her cheeks again. She clears her throat, working a swallow that I hear travel down her throat. “I just wanted to say thank you. I know you didn’t have to do any of this, and without my parents here…I just want you to know I appreciate it, and I’d love to pay you back sometime, in any way.”
I almost groan at all the ways a man can take that sentence. Does she not realize the power she holds? How many would take her up on that offer and take advantage of her?
The man from the bar the other night comes to mind, and I frown. Fury suddenly shoots down my spine like a straight shot.
“No need.” I brush off the idea altogether and start to turn, needing an escape. If I stay here a minute longer, I’ll end up doing something I can’t take back, like fucking her, right here, against this wall. Hell, her scent is so distracting, I feel like I’ve been plugging my nose almost all day. It’s a combination of something sweet, like honey and a soft floral scent. I don’t know if it’s her essence or her shampoo, but whatever it is, it’s fucking distracting as all hell.
“I also wanted to make sure…the stuff, the war…It’s over, right?”
A smirk steals across my face. “Oh no, babe. We’re only just getting started.”
With that, I head back home, preparing to see my baby brother tomorrow.
For the rest of the night, I try to focus on the important things, like getting my brother back and bringing our family together, but somehow, Olivia still manages to sneak into my thoughts, into my dreams.
It only makes me wish I hated her more.
“Flames”—ZAYN, R3HAB, Jungleboi
My upper lip curls in disgust, as I walk up the weed-infested driveway. Knowing my little brother is here in this shithole, instead of with me, pisses me the fuck off. How can the state believe this woman, in her one-story shit stone with a shitty lawn, shitty vehicle, and even shittier attitude, can really take care of my brother better than I can?
That was the thing about the state, about the justice system, foster care, whatever the fuck you want to call it. The second you make one bad decision and get caught for it? It’s over for you. Your entire future is ruined. You’re suddenly lumped in with the worst criminals. When I got arrested for stealing and dealing, my entire world turned upside down. Had I not been forced into that life, had I not had to bear the
brunt of that responsibility, then maybe everything in my life wouldn’t be as shitty as it currently is. Maybe Ryder and I would’ve lived normal lives. I could’ve gone to school every day and enjoyed it, not having to worry about how I would get my homework done, make enough money to feed Ryder and me, and still have enough saved to pay the bills. I wish I could’ve enjoyed being in high school and even had the opportunity to go to college. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have to work my ass off at the garage. Maybe then, my baby brother wouldn’t be stuck here in a shithole he doesn’t deserve. None of these kids deserve this.
The truth is, we both deserved better. My mother should’ve never been allowed to procreate. Some women aren’t meant to be mothers, and Allison Banks is one of them.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my job at the garage. George gave me the opportunity when I was so close to giving up, because so many other people had brushed me aside. Even though I was finally out of the system and trying to build a better life for myself, one where I’d be able to take care of a kid, I still felt the chains, of that particular system, holding me down. Every place I applied to, they always took one look at me and my history and told me to hit the road. No one ever gave me a chance until George. He didn’t make it easy on me, though. He made me work for it. Work for what I wanted in life.
He and Vic are the only ones who truly know about my past and my life now. They understand my drive and how important it is for me to get Ryder back.
I let the sudden anger roll off my shoulders and climb the steps, leading to the front door. The very second my foot lands on the concrete, just a few inches shy of the worn welcome mat, I can hear it. The shouts. The sounds of something crashing. There’s a kid crying inside, music is blasting from somewhere, and someone’s yelling, probably trying to rein in the chaos.
My lips curl over my teeth, and it’s a wonder I don’t kick my boot through the door, storm inside, and run away with my brother. In an ideal world, I’d be able to take him from Ms. Wallace with no hassle, but of course not, she’s been fighting for him for years. It’s not even because she wants him or loves him. It’s because him living here, taking up space in her home? That’s a paycheck for her. That money she gets, you think any of it goes toward those fucking kids? Not one cent. Want to learn how I know this? The clothes on my brother’s back? They’re from me. Those brand-new shoes? From me. This goddamn phone in my pocket? All me.
If I’m already the one providing for him, why not just let me keep him for free? I don’t need a check to take in my blood. I just need him. I need to be his protector. The one thing I vowed to be, for most of his life, is also the same thing I’ve been failing at so miserably.
I’d spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to Ryder. I may not have been dealt the same cards as his, but I’ll be damned if he doesn’t live a better life than I’ve had. I refuse to let him go down the same path I went.
I raise my fist, ignoring the ruckus on the other end of the looming door, and rap my knuckles against the wood. I’m honestly surprised anyone hears the knock over the sounds inside. It’s like expecting to hear a whisper in an amphitheater, while a rock band is playing. Fucking impossible.
A few seconds tick by, the sound of something else dropping, then the door swings open. Ms. Wallace stands there, wild-eyed, cheeks flushed, probably from yelling at kids all day. Her hair is in one of those messy buns at the top of her head, and she’s dressed in a sweat suit. Every time I look at this woman, I can’t seem to tamp down the amount of loathing I have for her. The feeling of disgust. She truly reminds me of Miss Trunchbull from Matilda. I’d bet my left nut their personalities aren’t far off either.
“Oh,” she grunts, looking me up and down disapprovingly. “It’s you. You’re supposed to call and make an appointment with me if you want to visit.”
I shrug, trying not to let it show how much I despise her. I’ve tried doing things by the rules with her, and it got me nowhere. Just calls that were never returned and two whole weeks without seeing my little brother. Like I’d ever give her forewarning before coming, so she can pretend the life he lives here is any better than the one we had previously. “I was in the area and wanted to stop by and see him.”
She rolls her eyes, easily seeing through my lie. She beckons me in, with a nod of her head, and walks down the hall. She cups a hand around her mouth and shouts for all of the goddamn neighborhood to hear, “Ryder, your brother is here!”
I dodge random kids running through the house, trying my damnedest, not to curl my nose in disgust at the pigsty that is this house. Without fail, I don’t understand how this woman passes exams and house tours. Her house is quite possibly the most disgusting place on earth.
Ryder is quick to walk out of the room he shares with two of the other boys here. The second he sees me, his eyes light up, and that feeling I get in my chest? The tightness that makes it hard to breathe? It intensifies. When he’s in reaching distance, I pull him into my arms, and I squeeze my little brother.
“Missed you, Bud,” I whisper.
He squeezes back. “Me too.”
When we pull away, I seek out Ms. Wallace’s eyes, and I jerk my chin toward the door. I’m not asking for permission; I’m way past that. I’m telling her I’m taking him for a while.
“Be back before dinner,” she yells after us, trying to maintain some semblance of authority.
Without a word or even a nod of acquiescence, I guide Ryder out of the shithole and to the car. I don’t take the Camaro out much. I usually keep it back at George’s Garage, since I have the Chevelle I’m reconditioning in my own garage at home. As a motorcycle is deemed inappropriate when caring for a child, I bought an old Camaro a while ago, and I’ve spent all my free time fixing it up. If I’m not visiting Ryder, I’m either working at the garage or working at home on the car.
“Man, it’s nice.” Ryder whistles, when he gets closer to the car. Unable to help himself, he takes it in from all angles, his bright eyes looking young and carefree. I grin, enjoying the boyish gleam in his eyes, as he stares at the vehicle.
“She’s yours. Once you learn to drive, that is, you can have her.”
He stops in his tracks, his eyes widening and mouth dropping open. “What? No way?”
I chuckle, nodding my head, as I climb into the driver’s seat. Ryder mirrors me, falling into the passenger side.
We chat easily, me just checking on him and seeing how he’s doing with school. He’ll be in eighth grade next year, and for that reason alone, I’ve never felt prouder or more like the clock is ticking. I need to get him back.
We stop at his favorite pizza spot—Zachary’s. The owner waves us in and pats us both on the back, giving us our regular booth, upon walking in. This is tradition, something we’d be able to do a lot more often, if he lived with me.
“So, what have you been up to?” he asks, between sips of soda.
I shrug, slinging my arm over my end of the booth and bringing my soda to my lips. “Working at the garage. Had to help my neighbor with something yesterday.”
He raises his brow, and before he even asks the question, I’m already shaking my head no, knowing exactly what he’s going to ask.
“Is this neighbor a…girl?”
I pause. “She is.”
“You like her,” he observes, leaning back in the booth.
I laugh. Downright laugh. Ryder, the thirteen-year-old, thinks he can call me out on my shit? Not happening.
“I don’t. It’s actually quite the opposite. She drives me fucking crazy.”
He cackles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, when he does so. I haven’t seen him laugh so easily in a while. For a kid his age, his laughter should come a lot more often than it does now. “You wouldn’t have helped her if you didn’t like her. You never do anything that doesn’t benefit you, or go out of your way to help someone, you don’t care about.”
I sit back, flabbergasted, eyeing my little brother. When the hell did he become so observant? So damn
smart?
“You have no clue what you’re talking about, kid.”
Ryder snickers knowingly, proving to me just how much he does, in fact, know. Figuring now is the best time, I dig into my pocket and slide the phone across the table toward him.
“Here, this is yours.”
Ryder’s eyes widen. He glances down at the iPhone, then darts his gaze back up to me. Shock is written all over his face, as though he can’t grasp the reality of his big brother buying him a cell phone.
“I wh-hat? You didn’t have to—”
I rest my forearms on the table between us and lean forward. “Yeah, I did, Ry. I need to know you’re safe. If I can’t get ahold of you through Ms. Wallace, at least, this way, we’ll be able to talk every day. Just think of it as an early birthday gift.”
Ryder’s eyes flash down to the phone, his brows creasing, as he frowns. I watch him closely, wondering if maybe he doesn’t want it. Maybe he doesn’t like it. But then I see it. The tremble in his chin. The way he’s trying to keep his emotions at bay by remaining stoic. I give him a minute to compose himself, not wanting to put him on the spot. I am much the same way when it comes to handling emotions. Bottle it up and keep it hidden from everyone—that is how I’ve dealt with emotions my entire life.
“Thank you, Rome. I…just, thank you.”
When he looks up at me, his eyes are red-rimmed, and my chest squeezes with emotion. I brush the sensation aside and lean forward, jumping into an explanation on how to use the phone. I set up his account for him and downloaded some games and apps already. My number is, obviously, the only one programmed for now, but I have no doubt it’ll fill up soon with his friends’ numbers.
We poke fun at each other and snort at random videos we stumble across on YouTube. I let him get the hang of the phone, while we wait for our pizza.
