Stuck-Up Big Shot: A Hero Club Novel

by Sierra Hill

  She clears her throat and lowers her eyes to her lap, evading my gaze. “It was you.”

  Her voice is so soft, and the noise of the highway so loud, I’m not sure I hear her correctly.

  “Hugh? Who the hell is Hugh? I’ll kick his ass.”

  The sound of Sutton’s laughter fills the car and casts a balmy salve over my heart.

  “Not Hugh. You.” She emphasizes this remark by jabbing a finger into my biceps.

  “Wait, what?”

  Well, fuck all. I’m the biggest asshole in the history of all assholes.

  Because for the second time in my life when it comes to Sutton, I fail to have any recollection of this kiss or when it even happened.

  The delay in my response is obvious, and Sutton bites down on her bottom lip in a nervous gesture.

  “You don’t remember it, do you?”

  I could lie. Pretend that’s not the case, that I do remember kissing her silly because she’s so beautiful and wonderful, and the kiss meant everything to me.

  But it’s not the truth.

  “Button. . .”

  She heaves a heavy sigh and then lets out a self-deprecating, half-hearted laugh.

  “It’s just my luck. I thought that was the case, but I wasn’t one hundred percent certain. It happened the day of Mel’s funeral. My mom and I had stayed behind to help Granny clean up the kitchen after everyone left, and I went upstairs to say goodbye to you when I heard you making distressing noises. I knocked on Mel’s bedroom door, but you didn’t answer, so I walked in to see what was going on.”

  My breath hitches at this memory, a dull ache throbbing in my chest that I rub my palm over in the hope it’ll go away.

  “As I entered, I noticed you sitting on the floor in her closet. I sat down next to you, telling you over and over again it was okay. That Melodie was in a better place then.”

  Vaguely I can picture it, the view from the floor of Mel’s closet, the bottle of Jim Beam in my hand, my knees drawn up to my chin, and Mel’s open diary laid out next to me.

  The secrets it had told me about Mel’s life after I went away to school. Her loneliness and pain.

  And the pain she survived but remained scarred with from my stepfather’s abusive hands.

  It tore me open that day, and I bled out.

  After that, I was just a shell of a man.

  Realizing Sutton hasn’t finished telling her story, I break through the silence that crept in over us and say, “I know I was drunk out of my mind. Obliterated from both my loss and the booze.”

  She nods, a bit of consolation and agreement. “I knew that. I smelled the whiskey and saw the half-empty bottle next to you. At that moment, I understood what you felt. What the devastating ripple effects of Mel’s death would have on us. And all I wanted to do was take away your pain and provide some level of comfort.”

  A harsh thought races through my head, my heart pounding as fast as a speeding train. A lump of bile rises in the back of my throat, and I swallow it down like a bitter, acidic pill.

  “Oh fuck, Button. Did I. . . I didn’t come on to you, did I?”

  A look of shock and repugnance crosses her face and colors her eyes a deep, forest green.

  “Because that would’ve been so terrible if you did, Miles?”

  We near a gas station and I immediately whip the car into the parking lot, finding the closest spot to park and turn off the engine.

  Unbuckling my seat belt, I maneuver to face her, reaching to cup her face, turning her to face me, so there is no confusion what I mean.

  “Sutton, nothing about being with you would ever be terrible. But you were seventeen—"

  “Almost eighteen,” she interjects with such force that I have to hide my smile for fear she might slap it right off my face.

  “Whatever,” I concede. “The point is, I was almost twenty-three. A grown-ass man and you were a young girl who’d never even been fucking kissed. Jesus Christ, I’m such a morally depraved asshole.”

  Sutton covers my hands with hers, pulling them down to her lap, absently stroking my palms.

  “Miles, I didn’t want this moment to be a scene. You were my first kiss. A kiss I’d dreamed about for years before. I worshipped you. I loved you from afar. I would’ve given you my innocence had you not been the gentleman that you are.”

  I groan inwardly. God, had I fucked her that day, I’d never forgive myself.

  It’s bad enough I failed my sister, but then to have potentially ruined her best friend and taken something so precious from her while I could barely stand up on my own, would’ve been unconscionable.

  “I’m no gentleman, Sutton. But I’m glad I had the wherewithal not to go there with you.”

  She sighs, lifting her hand to place it over my heart.

  “Miles Thatcher, you are a good man with a good heart. I wish you could see what I see in you. And for the record, you were the best first kiss I’ve ever had.”

  30

  Sutton

  “Good evening, Mr. Thatcher. It’s so good to see you. Miss Iris will be pleased as punch to have you here for dinner. She’s been chattering all day about her handsome, smart grandson.”

  I quirk an eyebrow at a blushing Miles—yes, he’s blushing—as the nursing home’s front desk receptionist fusses over him like he’s the town celebrity.

  In a way, he kind of is a hometown hero. He was a star baseball player in high school, the valedictorian of his graduating class, and then became one of the more successful former townies. And let’s face it, he’s super easy on the eyes and has been charming women, young and old, for years since he was just a punk kid.

  As if finally realizing that Miles isn’t alone, she turns to me with a smiling expression. “Well, it looks like Iris will be getting an extra guest tonight. And who might you be, my dear?”

  “Hi there. My name is Sutton. Sutton Fuller.”

  The woman’s eyes blow wide. “My, my, my. Little Sutton Fuller. I remember you when you were just yay high to a grasshopper.” She demonstrates this by lowering her flattened palm to below her waist.

  “Your mama and I used to work the church clothing drives together. I haven’t seen her in ages. How is she doing, honey?”

  I smile broadly, my head swiveling to look between her and Miles, who stands facing me with an amused twinkle in his eye.

  “Oh, she and my dad are doing great. She’s still teaching third grade at Mystic View Elementary, and pretty sure she’s driving my dad crazy as usual.” I chuckle. My parents have been married almost thirty years, and since I’ve moved out, they seem to bicker over everything. “But they’re doing well.”

  “Well, you tell her I said to say hello.” She hands me a visitor badge with my name penned neatly on the front. It has an adhesive backing which I adhere to my chest and discard the film in the wastebasket below the window.

  “Thanks, Mary Jane,” Miles says, accepting his and doing the same. “Do you want me to sneak you some butterscotch pudding if it’s on the menu tonight?”

  Miles whispers to me conspiratorially, “Don’t let her sweet looks fool you. Mary Jane here has turned me into a hardened criminal and accomplice due to her butterscotch pudding addiction. And she makes me steal extra pudding cups anytime I come for dinner.”

  She laughs boisterously, waving a hand in the air. “Pish. That’s so untrue. You just like spoiling an old woman for sport.”

  I nod in agreement at her statement, raising my eyebrows in solidarity. “Isn’t that the truth. He’s such a flirt and charmer when he’s not being broody.”

  Mary Jane laughs again as Miles gives us a teasing look of innocence. “I can’t believe I’m being picked on when all I’ve been is nice to both of you.” He points between us, eyebrows narrowed judgmentally.

  He playfully walks off, flipping his hand in the air behind him, pretending he’s all butthurt.

  I roll my eyes and lean into the window. “Men. So sensitive to the truth.”

  “Amen, sister.
”

  I wave goodbye to Mary Jane and rush to catch up to Miles, who has just rounded the corner of a long corridor leading into a cafeteria where the smell of Clorox disinfectant and turkey meat fills the air.

  “She’s a sweetheart,” I comment, threading my fingers through Miles’s hand. “And you really do know how to charm women. Always have.”

  He bestows one of those charming smiles on me, and like the giddy schoolgirl I am, I bask in its glow.

  This is the Miles I remember from my childhood. The boy who could smile and use his cunning wit and boyishly good looks to get away with anything. The boy everyone loved and adored and the one the girls flocked to, hoping to be plucked from the crowd and singled out for his attention.

  Miles lifts his shoulder. “What can I say? It’s one of my many talents.”

  I snort as we enter a crowded cafeteria filled with fifteen or so circular tables, each table surrounded by elderly residents and their aides. It’s not a particularly full room, but for the number of people in it, there isn’t much noise.

  We stop just inside the door as Miles scans the area in search of his grandmother.

  “There she is.” Miles lifts his chin toward a table in the back corner.

  I take a step forward only to be stopped abruptly by the tug of his hand. I whip my head around to see him with apprehension sketched across his furrowed brows.

  He clears his throat, voice quiet and hesitant. Completely unlike the guy who was just joking a moment ago.

  “Um, I failed to mention something.” He pauses, inhaling a deep breath before breathing out. I give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “It’s fine, Miles. I understand.”

  His gaze falls to the floor. “Granny has good days and bad. Sometimes she’s the way she’s always been, but sometimes, and most often, she lapses into a woman who’s not all there.”

  “Dementia?”

  His face turns to stone, eyes like dark granite in their fury over his grandmother’s condition.

  “Yeah. It started two years ago and has progressively gotten worse. In fact, last Saturday, before the volunteer event, I had to make an emergency trip up here because she fell and reinjured her hip. When I asked her what happened, she had no recollection of why she was in a wheelchair to begin with. I’m just warning you that. . . well, she may not know who you are.”

  Compressing my lips together, I give him a tight nod, hoping he knows he’s not alone, and I’m here for him.

  The minute we hit Iris’s table, her eyes light up with the joy only a grandmother can feel when seeing a loved one.

  “Miles! You’re here. I’ve missed you.”

  And then she sees me, and something in her eyes flickers and stutters, a memory escaping the recesses of her mind and reemerging in a new, indiscernible appearance.

  Iris’s voice weakens and comes out almost as a whispered sob.

  “Meli? Is that you?”

  31

  Miles

  My feet falter, and it feels like my gut has been hit with a battering ram.

  And by the look across Sutton’s face, she’s experiencing the same level of torment.

  When I began talking to Granny’s doctors, they indicated that lucidity is a fragile thing with dementia patients, and their brains just don’t function to filter out reality, the past or the present. There is confusion, mix-ups, anger and agitation, and sometimes just pure radiant joy.

  Seeing the approval and love that generates from Granny’s appearance right now, in her belief that Sutton is her granddaughter, is too much to squash by telling her otherwise.

  Sutton’s head turns to stare at me with the unspoken question of “What do I do?”

  I take the problem off her hands and respond to Granny, bending down to kiss her weathered and wrinkly cheek. “Hi, Granny. Look who I brought with me tonight for dinner.”

  Tears gather in the corner of her eyes, and I can barely stand here in this lie. But what else am I supposed to do? Tell her she’s wrong, that Sutton isn’t her granddaughter because Mel’s dead?

  It would be a recipe for disaster. Granny wouldn’t be able to comprehend or disassociate this present reality with what she believes to be true in her mind. And no matter what I would say to correct her assumptions, it would only create a further disconnect and then an outburst of frustration.

  Not happening.

  I offer a chair next to Granny’s wheelchair for Sutton to sit down, and I take the next seat over. There’s another woman on the opposite side of the table, but she’s hunched over her plate mumbling something incoherently.

  God bless her.

  “Melodie, my sweet, beautiful girl. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  Sutton blinks, and I can see the thoughts forming in her head, as they roll around and gather steam before exiting her mouth in a lie I’ve basically demanded her to perform.

  Sutton places a hand over Granny’s and leans in to kiss her forehead. The gesture has a lump forming in my throat.

  “Hi, Granny. I’m so sorry I haven’t been here in a while. You know, I’ve just been so busy going to school and working in the city.”

  Sutton flicks a hopeful glance at me, looking for further direction, and I blink, gesturing with a nod for her to keep going.

  I feel like a prick for not warning Sutton what we might encounter today. It’s just such a crapshoot from day to day, and impossible to predict what version of my grandmother I’ll find when I show up.

  Granny smiles proudly. “Oh, I’m so proud of you. Are you still swimming? You were always so fast in the water. I called you my little fish, do you remember?”

  Sutton’s voice is thick with emotion that makes something inside me crack open. Fuck me, but this girl—this woman—is the best thing that’s ever happened in my life.

  “I still swim, Granny. And Miles still seems to beat me.”

  Granny’s attention returns back to me, and I try to fake my enthusiasm, stuffing the pain ripping me to shreds back inside my chest like a life-size Build-a-Bear experiment.

  “Our Miles is hard to beat, that’s for sure. He was born to be a winner. He came early, you know, letting only one shrill cry out into the world. A tiny war-cry telling everyone know he was going to take the world by storm.”

  I stifle the eye roll that wants to let loose, but how can I not be flattered to hear the adoring words from my own grandmother.

  Looking at how little my grandmother has eaten, I encourage her to continue and invite Sutton with me to the cafeteria-style conveyor line.

  “We’ll be right back, Granny. Don’t run off anywhere, okay?”

  The words couldn’t ring truer. I’m not worried about her leaving physically, but who knows if the woman here with us will be the same one five minutes from now.

  As I usher Sutton to the buffet, I can’t help but apologize for putting her in this compromising position.

  “I’m sorry if this is awkward, Button.”

  Sutton grabs a tray, passing it to me and picks up another one before sliding it over the metal counter. “Miles, you have nothing to apologize for. It just makes me sad to know you’ve been dealing with this all on your own. How long has she been here?”

  I reach for a plate of spaghetti, the sauce runny and smelling heavy on the garlic, along with a prepared bowl of salad, setting them on my tray as I follow closely behind Sutton.

  “A few months now. She’s only been noticeably declining over the past six months. Until then, she was sharp as a tack, only forgetting basic things, which is why I let her remain living alone in the house. But one day I got a call from the fire department while I was on a business trip in Dallas. She’d put oil in a pan to cook something and then forgot about it, leaving the stovetop burner on. Thank God the smoke detector went off and the alarm company called nine-one-one. When they found her, she was huddled in the corner of her bedroom, panicked and unresponsive.”

  Sutton’s eyes hold sympathetic concern, her hand gripp
ing my forearm with kind solidarity.

  “Miles, that must’ve been awful, especially being so far away and unable to race home.”

  We get to the end of the counter, and I pull my wallet out, handing the woman a fifty. The meals are included in my grandmother’s plan, but any guests are required to pay.

  “Keep the change,” I offer as we head back to the table where my grandmother is now talking to an aide.

  The man straightens as we walk up and place our trays down on the table.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask him, his braided hair pulled up in a thick ponytail behind his head.

  “Ah, yes. I was just checking in on my gal, Iris. She seemed a bit disoriented.”

  Sutton and I lock eyes, both alarmed at the sudden change in her demeanor.

  “Granny, are you okay?”

  My grandmother stares down at her plate of half-eaten food, mumbling something on repeat. I’m not sure what flipped the switch since we were only gone a few minutes, but when I place my palm gently on her shoulder, she stiffens.

  And then screams.

  Loudly and unceasing.

  Sutton’s hand flies to her mouth, and I jerk back in alarm. Josh, the nurse's aide, looks at us and shrugs.

  “It’s okay. This happens. I’ll take her back to her room and get her settled. Maybe give her fifteen minutes to regroup.”

  As he wheels her away from the table, her shrieks continuing in an on-and-off cycle, I throw myself down in the seat and hang my head in my hands, massaging my temples to thwart the tension headache already building at the base of my skull.

  “Goddamn it. I can’t do this anymore.”

  Somewhere from outside my misery, I hear Sutton’s calming voice. “Shh. . . it’s okay, Miles. You’ll get through this. I’m here for you.”

  When I lift my head and find Sutton on her knees in front of me, I know she’s both wrong and right.

  She is here for me and for that I’m grateful.

  But I honestly don’t know how I’m going to make it through this tortured and prolonged deterioration of my grandmother. For every step forward, she takes four steps further away from me and from reality.