Screw It Read online

  I loved that smile. I miss that smile.

  “Yeah.” I snatch up my beer and take a pull. “Don’t know if it’ll be the same, but I wanna try. I can’t keep doing this dating thing. It sucks. Just don’t think it’ll be easy to get her to agree. She gave me her V-card, bro, and then I fucked her over. Fuck. The glare she gave me when I first saw her again…shit, I should be ashes.”

  I meet my brother’s eyes, and he smiles with one side of his mouth.

  “First, nothing worth having is ever easy. Second, her remembering that for six years is a good thing. That means she remembers you. Women who don’t give a fuck anymore wouldn’t be giving attitude. Third, the other side of hate is love. Sounds like you flipped that coin over once. If you want her bad enough, you gotta work to flip it back. And last, it’s a rule with very few exceptions. If you take a girl’s virginity and you’re both single in the future, then you’ll always be able to dip back into that well, especially if you mean it.”

  My lip twitches. “She might be an exception.”

  He smiles big and then loses it, his face growing serious. “Don’t know if you don’t try.”

  “Right.” My chest feels lighter, but then I shake my head. “Been looking a long time to find a good woman. It sucks to realize I had one, dicked her around, and then sent her packing.”

  Jed’s tone is firm when he says, “Brother, listen to me. You fucked it up. Know that, own that, and move on. From the sound of it, you got your work cut out for you in helping her move on. Don’t need to be battling that in your head as well.”

  Running my tongue along my teeth, I nod. “Yeah.”

  Right, puzzle presented.

  I live my life loving the challenge of solving a puzzle, and now, I got one. Now, I need to set about piecing us back together and seeing if that picture can be as beautiful as I remember.

  Jed’s eyes shift, so I follow the direction they’re taking. My jaw grows hard from seeing a guy leaning on the bar and not in a casual way. His body is held tense and blocking most of Becca, but I catch the flash of her hair and the swinging of her hands.

  Seeing that she has a situation, I rise out of my chair and wind my way over. I sense my brother behind me as I get closer.

  “Did you get the flowers?” I hear the guy ask as I close in.

  Flowers?

  “They’re in the dumpster.”

  “Becca—”

  “Swear to God, Brian, don’t test me. Leave.”

  “Becca, I don’t—” The guy’s voice is strained, showing his impatience.

  “Leave.” Her face is firm as I come to a stop against the bar.

  Becca’s eyes snap to mine, and the blaze fades as her eyes widen, and her face loses color.

  “Problem here?” I cross my arms over my chest and lift an eyebrow.

  “Who are you?” His question is a challenge.

  Accepted.

  “Someone who doesn’t appreciate you riling up my woman.”

  His mouth falls open, and his face pales before he snaps his trap shut. His face grows red, and he turns that aggression toward Becca.

  “What the fuck, Becca? I thought you said no one else.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder and not in a gentle way. “I also don’t appreciate you taking that tone with her.”

  He jerks his head around, and his face has gone tomato. I drop my hand and tense, ready to take him down if I need to.

  But then Becca speaks, “You have balls, asshole.”

  The two of us face Becca. Her glittering eyes are on me, but then they shift to him.

  “He is not my man. You are not my man. Unless you’re here to order a beer, I have nothing left to say that wasn’t said last night.”

  Fuck. Last night?

  “If there is no one else, why is he saying he’s your man when you were riding me less than twenty-four hours ago?”

  “Seriously?” Her voice is high-pitched. “We don’t have a relationship. We never had a relationship.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is,” she hisses.

  “Becca, baby—”

  The flames licking at my muscles flare, but I check it. “All right, I see you’re done. Time to leave.”

  “I’m not leaving, and she said you”—he jabs a finger in my chest—“and her are nothing, so you’re the one who needs to fuck off.”

  I don’t get the chance to tell him he needs to rethink jabbing me when the bouncer steps up. “Problem here?”

  I take out my badge and flash it. “Just noticed this man harassing your bartender, so I figured I’d step in.”

  “Becca, this man bothering you?” the bouncer asks.

  She nods, but then her eyes shift to me.

  Before she can open her mouth to speak, the bouncer says, “All right, buddy. Time to call it a night.”

  “But, Becca, I have to walk you home. I—”

  “I’m walking her.” I step closer to the bar.

  “But—” the asshole starts.

  “Time to go, man. You don’t want a scene, especially in front of a cop.”

  The guy eyes the bouncer and then turns his glare to me. Finally, he turns to Becca, and with his tone hard, he says, “This is not over.”

  Then, he pushes past us, and the bouncer trails behind him.

  When I turn back to Becca, she is breathing deeply.

  “Becca, we gotta talk.”

  She holds up a finger, asking for patience. I give it to her.

  Then, she drops her hand, and her voice is just low enough to hear as she says, “You really wanna walk me home tonight? I’ll let you. The only reason I’m gonna do that is because you apparently have something on your mind. Even though I do not want to spend one second in your presence, from what I remember, you’ll keep pushing until you say whatever you need to say. It’s in my best interest to listen, so we can go our separate ways.”

  With that, she’s off to do her job.

  Feeling a hand on my shoulder, I shift my attention.

  Jed gives my expression a once-over, and then low laughter rumbles out of him. “Good luck, bro. You’re gonna need it.”

  Unfucking That Something

  Jesus, how did I get myself into this mess?

  “Just get in the truck.” Zach’s clearly frustrated.

  “No.” I cross my arms over my chest, my pulse thumping in my eardrums.

  “Sweetheart—”

  That word—fuck, that word cuts through me like a rusty, dull knife. His nicknames used to make me feel precious when I obviously wasn’t.

  I push through the pain and snap, “Stop calling me that.”

  He draws in a breath, making his chest expand, as he closes his eyes and drops his head. His grip on the frame of the door to his old red truck tightens until his knuckles are white. He slowly releases the air in his chest.

  My head is spinning, trying to figure out what’s in his head, because this whole damn scenario is wacked. I haven’t seen him in over six years, and in one day, I’ve run into him twice. I’m trying to keep hold of my emotions, but the edges are fraying.

  “Becca, it’s pushing three in the morning, and we’re standing on the streets of a not-so-nice city. Can you please get in the truck, so I can take you home safely?”

  I jerk my head side to side. “No.”

  He rubs his temples. He does this for longer than I have the patience or the emotional strength to stand here, waiting for him to spit out what he has to say.

  “I’ll see myself home.” I turn on my heel, but I only take half a step because he grabs my arm.

  “Wait.”

  I wrench it free, and I surprise myself as I pour so much venom into my voice when I say, “Don’t fucking touch me, Zach, not ever. I’m not getting in your car because I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. And because you’re six foot something and have about a hundred pounds on me, I can’t even lift you, let alone throw you, so that’s how much I trust you. Say what you have to say rig
ht now.”

  Shit. Deep breath. Gather your control.

  He does the tongue-along-the-teeth thing and stares.

  What he doesn’t do is fucking talk.

  “Fine.” I spin around and take two steps before he falls in step next to me.

  My heart beats into my throat as I speed-walk down the cracked sidewalk. He’s so close that it makes me nervous. I can’t imagine what he has to say.

  An apology maybe?

  “I’m gonna cut to the chase.” His voice is gentle, making my palms sweat.

  I don’t look at him, trying to keep myself in check. “By all means.”

  “I fucked up.”

  I stop in my tracks and slide my eyes to his. “What?”

  “I fucked up.”

  That clarifies nothing, so I repeat, “What?”

  “With you. With us. I was young. I was stupid. I was feeling things I didn’t get at the time. We had something good, but I didn’t have my head screwed on right, and I fucked up. I’d like to see about unfucking that something, and maybe we can take it from there.”

  My jaw drops to the pavement. I never, not ever, thought I’d hear anything close to those words from him. I don’t want them.

  Unfucking that something, and maybe we can take it from there?

  I snap my mouth shut, my body stiffening until I’m wound so tight that I’m shaking.

  Ten, nine, eight…

  I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fingers, digging my nails into my palms.

  Seven, six, five…

  I pull in a huge breath, then another, and another.

  Does he think he can screw me again?

  Four, three, two…

  “Becca, I see that you’re gonna explode, but I also wanna hammer home that I’m sorry. I know I hurt you. I know that you think—”

  Bomb detonated.

  I’ve lost it.

  In true Zach fashion, like only he can do, he’s made me lose my control.

  My eyes fly open, and my feet roll up to my tiptoes, so I can get as close to in his face as I can. “You don’t know shit!”

  He clamps his hands on my biceps. “Becca—”

  “You have no fucking clue. None. Fucking Christ.”

  He thinks he just broke my heart, but it was so much more. He has no idea how much deeper that blade sliced. I rip myself from his arms and storm in the direction of my apartment, my anger pulsing behind my watering eyes.

  He’s next to me, grabbing my hand. “Talk to me.”

  Keeping my head down so that he doesn’t see a tear falling, I yank my hand from his. “Fuck off.”

  “Becca, we gotta talk.” His voice is soft.

  I swipe the tear away, my body still wired. “No, we don’t. Just ’cause the great and powerful Zach decides”—I air quote with my fingers—“something does not mean I’m gonna give it. It’s been six years, Zach, but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember.”

  “Have to say, sweets, I like you remembering me as great.” Humor is in his tone.

  I freeze and twist my head toward him. “You did not just make that joke.”

  “And powerful.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “I remember you being soft and sweet.”

  I ignore the tiny belly flutter. “I’m not anymore.”

  “Weren’t at first back then either. Then, you were. Bet you still are under that temper.”

  The flutter turns to stabbing as I think of back then. “I’m not.”

  “We got time. We’ll see.”

  My eyes bug out, and my teeth grit before I screech, “Are you shitting me?”

  “Let’s get you home before you wake up the city.” He moves to put a hand on the small of my back.

  “Don’t touch me.” My voice is low, weaved with ice.

  He holds up his palms, but a smirk plays at his mouth.

  My eyes narrow. “Don’t know what’s so funny.”

  “Not sure it’s a smart move to share.” His lips twitch.

  “Unbelievable,” I mutter. Then, I continue beating the crap out of the sidewalk with my silver flats.

  Silence stretches, and I can almost hear the whoosh, whoosh of my veins pumping. This wacked situation just flew up the scale right to straitjacket-wearing nuts.

  I’d like to see about unfucking that something, and maybe we can take it from there.

  If I’d heard those words six years ago, I would have been on that like a drunk to a bottle. Now, no way. Even if he were being genuine, even if hell had frozen over and I let him in, he’d only distract me again.

  I have to prove that I’m not my mother.

  “Wanna tell me about that guy at the bar?” Zach’s voice jolts me from my thoughts.

  “No.”

  “You seeing him?”

  I grit my teeth. “None of your business.”

  “Seeing as I’d like to get reacquainted with you, I’m thinking it is.”

  “Again, no. It’s none of your damn business since we’re not getting reacquainted.”

  We hit the cement stairs to my was-white-when-Jesus-was-a-baby apartment building. Knowing my bed is just up those steps, fifteen hours of working my ass off settles in, pushing out the anger. The beginning of a tension headache pulses behind my scratchy eyes.

  Turning to Zach, I open my mouth to say, Have a nice life, but he gets there first.

  “I can talk till I lose my voice, sweets, and I know I won’t put one dent in that armor of yours. It was thick back then, and evidence is suggesting it’s about as thick as the doors to the U.S. Treasury now. All I can do is prove that I’m a man of my word. I wasn’t when it came to women back then, but I am now.”

  I roll my eyes, knowing he’s full of it since I’ve been there and done that before.

  “Right.” My voice is heavy with sarcasm. “Don’t bother.”

  He presses his lips together, but the suppressed laugher makes an appearance in his crinkling eyes. “You’re still on the second floor on the right?”

  My jaw drops for what seems like the millionth time. I’m floored that he remembers.

  He scans my face before slapping me with a full-blown smile. The impact of those full lips splitting to reveal those perfect white teeth hurts worse than the tongue-along-the-teeth thing, but I refuse to show it on my face.

  “Right. Hit the light when you get in there, so I know you’re safe.” He tips his chin toward the stairs. “Night, sweetheart. See you soon.”

  I open my mouth to bitch at him about the endearment or us seeing each other soon, but I stop myself. There’s nothing to gain by arguing on the steps to my apartment, especially with him, so I say nothing. I enter the apartment building without a backward glance.

  Climbing the stairs in the fluorescent lighting, I decide how to control the situation with Zach. He seems determined to get back together with me. With his persistence, I’m gonna need a plan to lock him out.

  Zach’s so tenacious that when his watch broke, he went to six different stores, only to find out it had been discontinued, so he spent four hours looking online for a replacement before finding one on eBay for nearly double the original price. “Know what I want, sweets, and when I want something, I make it happen,” he said.

  He made me lose control back then, and tonight, he proved that he still can. But I can’t let him unfuck that something. No way. He’ll have to learn that he can’t always get what he wants.

  Still, when I get inside, I hit the light, thinking that is the last thing he’ll ever get from me.

  “Rebecca, it’s time to wake up, honey,” Tammy, my foster mother, calls, rousing me from sleep.

  I rub my eyes and glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand—the first nightstand I’ve ever had. I still have an hour and a half to get ready for school. I flop back on my soft bed, hating the strictness of my foster home for the zillionth time.

  It’s been four months since my mama died, and I’ve been here for two months. I really shouldn’t complain. Tam
my and Joe are nice, and they don’t seem to think I’m just another paycheck. They’re not abusive in any way, and I’ve come to realize that foster homes have a bad rap.

  The only thing is everything here is strict and out of my hands—what I wear, what I eat, when I wake up, when I go to bed. Hell, even my chores are doled out. For a girl who is so used to relying on herself, it’s hard, really hard. It feels like a noose around my neck, and I hate it.

  Tears sting the backs of my eyes. I cry for my mom every day, but the worst is during times like this when I’m reminded of how much my life has changed.

  I suck in a deep breath and tell myself that crying solves nothing.

  Just get through it. It won’t be this way forever.

  There’s another knock on the door.

  “Rebecca, honey, you up?”

  “Yeah.” My voice is hoarse from sleep and unshed tears.

  “Okay, sweetie, it’s time for you to shower. I’ll whip up some oatmeal for you.”

  “Okay.” For the hundredth time, I don’t tell her that oatmeal is nasty. I’m not even used to eating breakfast.

  I just need to make the best of this before I get out and I’m on my own—in seven long years.

  The therapist they make me see keeps telling me that I act too old for my age, and it’s a product of my previous environment. I need to be a kid and enjoy my youth in the safety of my foster home.

  He’s probably right, but how do I undevelop myself? Even if I could, why would I want to do that?

  I finally crawl out of bed and make my way to the shower where I let the tears come. It’s the only place where I feel safe enough to let the torment wash over me.

  As I sit on the blue-tiled shower floor, the hot water beating down on me is like fiery hail. The tightness of my muscles gradually loosens as the water from the shower slides down my face, mingling with my tears.

  Whisper soft, I can feel my mama’s arms wrap around me. I sag into the body that’s not really there as the ache in my heart slowly unravels.

  “It’s okay, baby girl. Mama’s here. I love you.”

  I snort my laughter. Even in my fantasy, she sounds one step away from slurring.

  That’s my mama. That’s why I’m here and not at home.

  Is this my fault? Should I have tried to get her help before she killed herself with alcohol? Should I have told someone, anyone? Should I have taken action into my own hands and confronted her instead of turning a blind eye?