Out of the Blue: Reed Security: Book Two

by Robin Leaf

  Out

  of the

  Blue

  By Robin Leaf

  Out of the Blue

  Copyright © 2020 Robin Leaf

  All rights reserved

  Robin Leaf, publisher

  Cover art by Marianne Nowicki at PremadeEbookCoverShop.com

  Except for use in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, businesses, places, events, or incidents are fictitious or have been used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The use of actors, artists, movies, TV shows, and song titles/lyrics throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  This novel is intended for adults only. Contains sexual content and language that may offend some. Suggested reading audience is 18 years or older.

  One

  Dugger

  “Dugger,” I hear, tugging me from the dark hole I drank myself into yet again. C’mon. No one’s looking for me. Who cares enough to try?

  It’s possible that maybe in my drunken state, I had a girl over last night. Rizzo’s Bar is my usual hook-up connection, except I know I wasn’t in any condition to go anywhere. I never have girls come home with me, but I wouldn’t put it past me last night, especially since I remember wishing I wasn’t alone. Because I was drunk and lonely, my dreams did some fucked up shit, bringing up the one I couldn’t have… yet again.

  The voice sounds achingly familiar, but I can’t let myself hope. It must not be real, just a left over from the dream.

  I’ll always love you, Dugger. You’re like a brother to me.

  That was only the first hit in a series of shitty things…

  I shake off her memory and wince, willing the dark to once again cradle me against its bosom.

  “Dugger?”

  Dammit, the voice is real… and closer; it sounds annoyed and not like her. Maybe if I bury myself deeper into my fortress of pillows and lie real still, it’ll seem like I’m not here. Whoever she is, she had to break in. I’d really like to not have any of my manly bits hacked off in a fit of psychotic rage. You just never know these days.

  God, please don’t let this chick find me. And please, please, please don’t let her be armed.

  Cans fling across my floor when the door opens, scaring the shit out of me enough to sit up too quickly. The stench of stale beer and sweaty male hits my nose, reminding me of the time in high school when Tommy Messina smuggled that cheap beer into the locker room after the championship game and kept shaking up the cans, spraying it all over everyone like it was champagne. My stomach churns. Wow, it’s pretty bad if I can smell myself. When I see the perpetrator of the break in, I flop back down on my pillow and pull the other one back over my face. I’d make it a point to groan or roll my eyes first if I didn’t think it would hurt.

  “Jeez, Dugger,” Emily snarls, “when did you become a fucking slob?”

  Yeah, it’s not like me to be so carelessly messy. I seem to have run out of fucks to give.

  “Fuck off, Em,” I grumble, rolling over onto my stomach. “It’s too early for your bitchery.”

  As soon as they leave my mouth, I regret using those words, but not enough to look up or to apologize. I mean, she’s the one who woke me up. I’m not a morning person on a good day, and this ain’t no good day. There hasn’t been one in a long time. This killer hangover just solidifies the point.

  I hear her take a deep breath and release it, chanting some calming stuff to herself. “It’s four in the afternoon, Douglass. And it’s taking all my restraint to let that comment slide. I mean I know you’re going through some shit, but let me say on any other day, there’s no way it’d fly.”

  Hell, on a normal day, there’s no way I’d say something like that. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.

  Well, yeah I do, but I’m trying to keep that lid shut. Something tells me she’s not on board with that plan.

  I try to burrow deeper, hoping she’ll take the hint.

  Wait, I did tell her to fuck off, didn’t I? Okay, so that wasn’t a hint. I hope she’ll respect my request/demand. Pfftt. Of course she won’t. This is Emily, who’s stubborn as the day is long. How can one of the things I love most about my friend also be the thing I hate the most about her?

  I really don’t want to lose her. If she goes, Tater will follow, and I’ll be totally friendless. Of course, Tater will side with his wife rather than his lifelong best friend. Something about vows and shit. After signing one little fucking piece of paper, suddenly he’s devoted to a chick. What happened to bros before hoes? Dicks before chicks? One spectacularly amazing rack, which I happened to point out to him at that stupid party, and he’s no longer loyal to the Dugger.

  Oh shit, I’ve become that douche. Not only did I just refer to myself in the third person, I put a “the” before my name. I think I may need help. The question is do I give enough of a fuck to ask for it?

  No. No I don’t.

  The comforter is stripped away in one yank, causing a stark contrast to the warmth of my former cocoon.

  “Shit, Dugger,” Emily grumbles, throwing the comforter back over me. “Sorry, I didn’t even think you’d be naked.” I hear more cans scuttle across the floor. The curtains open, flooding the room with unwanted sunlight. “While I go find trash bags,” she demands, “put these on.” Something lands on the top of the blankets. “You’re gonna help me clean up this mess while we talk.”

  My eyes squeeze shut. She isn’t leaving, and what’s sad is even though I really don’t want her to stay, I sort of don’t want her to go, either.

  Yeah, it’s a conundrum I won’t even try to understand.

  I sit up and throw my legs over the side of the bed, wiping my eyes, hoping my eyeballs don’t explode from the brightness she cruelly inflicted upon my poor retinas. The damn things don’t adjust as quickly as they used to. Of course, I’ve never been on a week-long bender before, so that may explain most of their protest.

  Grabbing the grey sweats that fell on the floor when I sat up, I stop to steady myself. Shit, maybe I’m still a little drunk. My feet barely follow my direction when I try shoving them into the legs, but they tangle together, making the simple task difficult. Once I can stand, I turn my back to the door, just in time for Emily to re-enter. I’m sure she’s getting another shot of my bare ass before I pull the fuckers all the way up.

  “Sorry,” I grouch, steadying myself on the nightstand. Who knew pulling on sweats would be so much work?

  “Jesus, Dugger,” Emily scolds, catching my arm before I fall backward to hold me up. “When is the last time you ate anything?”

  I focus on her face. “What’s today? Tuesday?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s Friday.”

  While squinting at her, which probably looks like a scowl, my stomach groans when I try to think of the last thing I ate. “Oh, well, then, I think it was Wednesday?”

  She takes ahold of both my arms and guides me to sit on the bed, studying my face with that worried-girl expression. “Are you asking me?”

  “Yeah,” I nod once, a big mistake. My head throbs through the sloshing. “I remember now, I ordered the Wednesday special from Fabrizio’s. The delivery guy stayed and had a beer with me. He’s my new best friend.” I look
in her eyes and tilt my head. “I think his name was Bill… or Ted. Or maybe he just looked like one of them from the movie, whichever one wasn’t John Wick.”

  She pushes against my arm. “You haven’t eaten in two days?”

  I scratch the side of my stubbly face searching my brain for something, while again, my stomach makes itself known. “Technically I had a slice yesterday since I didn’t fall asleep until after four in the morning.”

  She stands tall and crosses her arms into the “mom” stance, complete with condescending glare. “You’ve been asleep since then?”

  “No, I woke up and drank through season three of Supernatural.”

  “I thought you said before the wedding that you were going to give up drinking.”

  Smirking, I wave my hand around the floor. “There’re about sixty cans and five bottles around your feet that tell you how well that plan is going.”

  Her hand grabs mine and she pulls. “C’mon. I’m going to feed you something. You need coffee and a shower. Then we’ll clean, and you can tell me what’s got you so fucked up.”

  Even though she said the magic word, “coffee,” I pull my hand out of hers and stumble back. “Why don’t you go boss your husband around and leave me alone.”

  Please don’t leave.

  She whips around on me, poking her painted nail in my chest. “Why don’t you quit being a dick, get your ass in the kitchen, and do what I say before I leave and let you drown in your own fucking misery?”

  When she turns to storm out of my bedroom, I don’t have to hide my smile as I rub the spot she almost pierced with her nail. “Ow.”

  “Yeah, you’re lucky I don’t kick your ass. This pathetic thing you got going on right now could be the only way I could finally take your big, honkin’ ass down.”

  My feet follow her, probably the only part of my body that’s listening to her. Maybe it’s because she’s a little scary right now. I have no doubt that she could kick my ass on a good day, and not just because I’d never ever hit a woman. Honestly, I hate to admit it, but she kinda intimidates me. It’s the only explanation of why I follow her into the kitchen and don’t go back to the bed that screams my name.

  Lately, it’s the only thing that’s been screaming my name.

  Yeah, it’s been awhile. A long, long, long while.

  “When was the last time you even went to the gym?” she asks, opening my fridge and sticking her head in.

  Bringing my hand to my chin, I rub it, trying to remember when I last went. “I guess it was right before the wedding.”

  That’s about the same amount of time since I had sex, too. Hmm. Don’t go there, Dugger.

  She stands quickly, bumping her head into freezer door. Her hand rubs the spot as she narrows her eyes, studying me. “That was in January.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, so?”

  She just blinks at me for a few seconds, seeming like she’s trying to make some connection of my lack of gym time to some bigger picture.

  “It’s the end of April, Dugger.”

  “And? I work out around here.”

  She bites her lips. “I know something happened. This can’t be a delayed reaction from…” she stops herself, remembering the promise to me not to mention her name, “…what happened at my wedding.”

  I stare blankly. She’s right. There is more. But I’m not going to take the lid off that jar yet. She doesn’t need to hear me whine.

  She sighs, turns back to the contents of the refrigerator, and pulls out a carton of eggs. “And these expired yesterday.”

  I reach around her to grab the coffee out of the cabinet next to her head. “They’re fine.”

  To me, coffee comes before eating. I really am surprised I’m even talking to her before I’ve had my first cup. If she knew me better, she’d know she risked a lot trying to have a conversation with a decaffeinated me, which probably is the best explanation for the “bitchery” comment and my general dickishness.

  Yeah, I’ll blame it on my lack of caffeine and not the hangover or anything else, like the real reason I’m being an uncharacteristic asshole.

  Once the pot starts brewing, I inhale deeply for the first time in days. There’s nothing like the first shot of that divine smell from the heavens itself. Coffee is absolute proof God exists. Folgers be thy name.

  Actually, God is to thank for all the liquids in my life. Beer. Tequila. Rum-laced daiquiris with the little umbrellas in them. I’m comfortable enough in my manhood to admit I like a fruity drink on occasion.

  I fill my mug and take my first drink. Once my stomach realizes there’s no need to protest against additional alcohol, I sigh with that first-sip ecstasy, almost forgetting who’s waiting for me… until I turn around.

  But nope. She’s still there, sliding a plate with toast and eggs onto the table, looking at me like she’s either going to hug me or tie me up and force feed me. I move around her, sit, and start shoveling before she can do either.

  God. Are eggs always this tasty? Is she some magic egg-scrambling angel, or am I just that hungry? Since the toast is the most excellent toast I’ve ever eaten, and it’s just the same old toast made out of the same old white bread I always buy, I’m guessing hunger is to blame.

  “Slow down and actually chew, Dugger. No choking on my watch. With all you drank, if you really haven’t eaten since yesterday, you might make yourself sick.”

  I take a second to actually chew this bite slowly like she suggests. “Sorry, darlin’, but this is delicious.”

  “You must be starving.” She smirks. “Lord knows I’m certainly no cook.”

  Yeah. Tater told me all about her lack of culinary skills in detail, but I’ll keep the finer points of that convo to myself.

  “Alright, Douglass. Now you can tell me why you called in sick for a week straight and then just straight up no-showed for the last four days.” She sits in the chair across from me and softens her expression and her voice. “We were worried. You haven’t been yourself for a while now. I don’t know what’s happened to make you act like this,” she lays her hand over my forearm, “but Tater can’t keep covering your tattoo appointments. He doesn’t think Shayla is ready to handle it just yet. Not to mention that y’all are losing business on a bunch of piercing clients he’s had to reschedule.”

  I pull my arm away and push back from the table. “So Tater sent you?”

  “God no. In fact, he said he doesn’t mind covering for you and that I just needed to leave you alone. But since I’m me, I can’t do that. You haven’t answered texts for days. I thought you could have had another allergic reaction or got into an accident.” She closes her eyes, squeezing them shut. When she opens them, she takes a deep breath. “I have to say what I found is worse. Dugger, this downward spiral is not helping you, and I can’t sit by and watch it any longer.”

  Standing, I tower over her still seated in her chair, taking my turn with the intimidation. “Well, thank you, Emily, and I mean that sincerely, but you should have listened to your husband.” Walking over to the trash can, I throw my plate away and make my way back to her. “Now that you’ve done your good deed for the day, you can do what I asked earlier and fuck off.”

  Please don’t leave.

  I soften the blow of telling her to fuck off by leaning over and kissing the top of her head quickly and turn to exit the kitchen. My goal is to go back to bed, but she stands and runs around me, blocking my path, trying to appear taller by puffing her chest out to prove my attempt to intimidate her does zero good.

  “You know, when people push others away, it’s usually when they need them the most.”

  Bingo.

  “Good for you. You read a psych textbook.” I shuffle to move past her, but I stop, running my hand over my head. “I’m going to take a shower. Do yourself a favor and don’t be here when I get out.”

  Don’t grant that favor. Please. I could really use a friend.

  She sticks her tongue out at me. “Nice try. You need me, so I’m not
going anywhere, Dugger.”

  Phew.

  “Suit yourself,” I shrug, pushing past her to enter my bedroom.

  I make it to my bathroom and shut the door, sagging against it. If she’s truly not going anywhere, I’m in for a long night. She’ll keep at it until I unleash all the shit I’ve been carrying around. I really don’t want to do that. I know me. If I keep at the status quo, I’ll feel sorry for myself for a few weeks and then snap out of it, successfully tightening the lid on the pain jar before I can let myself feel it fully. However, if she stays, I’ll open the jar and spill its contents all over her. She doesn’t need that. Hell, no one does, especially me.

  Turning on the water, I hear her picking up the cans in my bedroom. God love her. Tater really is a lucky man. I’m almost pissed at myself for pointing her out to him and not approaching her myself.

  Almost.

  Hell, it would have been better for me, that’s for sure. But no, I had to stupidly be in love with my best friend’s sister, only to have her choose a fucking gaming nerd over me.

  Who am I kidding? I was never a consideration. He was her only option.

  But Kaelyn’s rejection is just the tip of the shit berg. There have been more shitty things that have happened in the last few months. They couldn’t happen over time. Nope. The shit hit the fan all at once.

  In this scenario, I’m the fan.

  The shower feels so awesome that I just stand there and let the water beat the hell out of me for as long it takes for it to turn cooler, which is my cue to start scrubbing the last three days off me before it becomes uncomfortably cold. Yes, it’s been three days since I’ve showered. I’m not proud of it. It is what it is.

  I rinse right before the water gets cold enough to make my dick shrivel and seek shelter. After turning off the water, I towel off quickly and go to grab my… Shit, I forgot to bring clothes in here, and Em could still be in there cleaning my mess. I wish she’d stop. I don’t need another reason to feel guilty.