Soul Deep

by Ashley Lyn

“Carter bitches every year when you make him come here for your birthday.”

  She snorts. “He came once two years ago and spent the entire night in the bathroom, so now he sends me presents via Amazon. And FYI, they’re shitty presents. Last year, he sent me an assortment of beef jerky. It was expired. So I sent him a coffee mug with a dick for the handle.”

  I burst out laughing, “He regifted it to Cash last year for Christmas.”

  “What a dick.” She laughs, and damn, is it beautiful.

  We get through the line, get our food and a table overlooking the diving pool. There’s such a giddiness about her, even here in an environment with a cheesy atmosphere. Lame skits, young divers with more balls than skills. And yet, regardless of how ridiculous that man in a monkey suit chasing a woman around is, she still finds it hilarious.

  It’s entertaining for sure to watch her, as her eyes sparkle with laughter. It’s more than just finding something like this funny. I think I forgot how to live in this world. I forgot how to laugh. Seeing her like this makes me want her more if that’s even possible. It’s wanting a partner in life who can still find the hilarity of it all, even in a world that’s anything but hilarious. In my line of work, I meet, see, and drag to jail the worst of the worst. Becca’s not only a fucking knockout and incredibly beautiful, but just a nice person, selfless, confident.

  The waiter clears our plates and brings a big plate of sopapillas.

  “Tell me about you, the Tristan that you don’t show everyone else.”

  Sitting back in my chair, I pull apart my sopapilla and look at her.

  “Like what?”

  “Boxers or briefs?”

  “Neither.” She promptly inhales the sip of margarita she just took and I hand her a glass of water as she scowls at me.

  “Just kidding. It’s a bit of both actually, but I prefer boxer briefs.”

  “I didn’t expect you to actually answer.” She laughs. “Hobbies?”

  “Other than work?” She nods her head. “I’m sort of a TV nerd.”

  “Favorite TV show?”

  “Supernatural, Charmed.” I hold up a hand when she bursts out laughing. “It was my mom’s favorite show so I always watched it with her. True Blood is up there, and so is Angel. Other than TV, I like to go camping, fishing, and rock climbing.”

  “Pet peeves?”

  “Dishonesty. I understand the white lies that you have to tell people to spare their feelings about certain things, but I don’t get why people have to lie to puff themselves up, fibbing about shit all the time. I had a friend in high school who would lie like it was breathing. Embellishing stories, even about dumb shit. It was frustrating for me because we would all be standing around talking with friends about the weekend, and he would completely lie about what we did. I either had to call him out in front of everyone or go along with it, turning me into a liar right along with him.”

  “You never answer the way I think you will. You’ll be happy to know that I’m very honest—probably too honest sometimes. I think my pet peeve would be attention seekers. That person who, when you ask, gives you these vague answers so that you’ll ask them more about it, and they rant on about the injustices of their life. When you really listen to their tale of woe, it’s glaringly obvious that they put themselves in that position. I have a deep-seated need to help those in need. So, when people do that, I feel like I need to help them, and have a lot of guilt that I can’t either physically or financially. I used to work with this woman who would do that. She was pregnant and gave me this whole tale about how this random guy knocked her up, and she didn’t have enough money to pay for all the shit she would need for when the baby got here, and how her friends abandoned her. I damn near killed my finances with that one, spending thousands. I threw her a baby shower and paid for everything. Then I found out that her friends wanted nothing to do with her because she got knocked up by her friends’ husband.”

  She looks off at the divers, smiling. “I learned my lesson after that, but it’s still hard for me sometimes.”

  “It’s not a bad trait to have,” I tell her, grabbing her hand.

  “I know, I just want everyone to be as happy as I am. Sometimes, people just want to be heard, and I have to just listen and not try and fix their shit.”

  They come and clear the plates away, and we get up and make our way to the other side of the restaurant. Grabbing her hand, I pull her into the haunted house. I use that term lightly. It might be scary to little kids, but for adults, it’s pretty lame. We get about halfway through when this loud buzzer goes off and Becca screams so loud and long, I’m momentarily deaf.

  I look at her terrified face and burst out laughing. By the time I get it under control, I’m wiping tears away. When I look at her face though, she’s livid. “I’m sorry,” I say, holding up my hands.

  “I hate shit like this.”

  “So I take it we’re never going to 13th floor around Halloween?”

  “Technically, I’m not allowed. I was banned.”

  “How do you get banned from a haunted house?”

  “Well, to understand, you’d have to have the whole story. When I was in high school, my friend and I went to this haunted house, where this creepy as fuck doctor dude jumped out covered in blood. I panicked, and I couldn’t even scream. I just passed out, just boom, right over backward. They had to shut the whole thing down for the paramedics to come in because when I fell, I smacked the shit out of the back of my head. Everyone at school was talking about it. I was so freaking embarrassed, and when I get embarrassed, I get mad. So, fast forward to a couple years down the road. I’m living in Denver, and the ladies at the salon decided to go to the 13th floor. Thinking that I was older and I could handle my shit, I decided to go. We made it almost the entire way through and I controlled myself. Everyone was like, “Man, Becca has lady balls of steel. She’s hardly screamed at all.” Just as they said that, this dude jumped out and everyone jumped, but for me it was a flashback. It was the creepy doctor all over again. I screamed so loud, I thought I ruptured a vocal cord. Everyone cracked up, but I got mad and punched that asshole right in the face, breaking his fucking nose. And once again, they had to close it down to clean up the blood from his nose. Oh man, it was gushing like a fire hydrant, and blood was everywhere.”

  Blinking at her, I’m trying hard to not laugh. “Okay, note to self—do not scare Becca.”

  She nods her head, and the movement is so cute. Grabbing her hand, we head to the arcade.

  BECCA

  “Stop pouting,” I tell a disgruntled Tristan. “It’s not my fault you suck at skee-ball.” I throw my bag on the chair and take off my overshirt before flopping down on the couch. His hands are braced on his hips, legs wider than shoulder length.

  “God, you look sexy, like pissed off sexy Lost Boy.”

  “Like Cory Feldman, or like Peter Pan?”

  “The Pan.”

  “I think I’m insulted.”

  “Well, a grown-up sex Lost Boy.” He stalks me. That’s the only way to describe the determined stride to my perch on the couch. The gates to my love tunnel fling themselves open as I mentally slam them shut.

  He kneels on the couch and pushes my shoulders down so I’m lying on my back. “Are you going to ravish me?” I whisper.

  My tank top is jerked over my head and he buries his face in my cleavage. The satisfied groan is cute. Running my fingers through his hair, I marvel at how soft it is, even though it’s short. “You going to come up for air anytime soon?”

  “I’m mmfffingiiz ven.”

  “Come again?” He lifts his head up and kisses my smiling face. “I said I’m in heaven.”

  “My boobs are heaven?” Cupping the girls, he squeezes them, flops them this way and that with such an intense look, I can’t help but giggle.

  “Come here.” He leans down and my mouth opens willingly. The kiss is wild and frantic. His fingers flick open the front clasp on my bra, and his fingers start pinching and p
ulling. I’m in the sex zone, and it’s fucking bliss.

  “What the fuck!” We both jerk our heads up and stare in horror. My fucking brother is standing in the doorway.

  I look up at Tristan. “So is playtime over?” His lips twitch, then he holds up a hand as Carter comes barreling down on us. “Let her get dressed, and then we can go outside and have a conversation.”

  “Oh, we will, motherfucker, a conversation with my fist in your fucking face! I told you, I fucking told you, do not touch my fucking sister!”

  “What?” I screech.

  “Outside, Carter. Now!”

  I’m in shock, and kind of hurt. “So you’re telling me that my whole life, which you were absent from, and even though I’ve lived here the last six years, you still ignore me, you think you have the right to say who I can and can’t date?” My tank top is on and I’m up. “You’re an asshole. You can just fuck right off.” Tristan grips my arms and steers me to my room.

  “Becca, baby, let me talk to him outside. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “No, Tristan, this involves me too. That shitass…I want to punch him…please?” He chuckles, kisses me, and then heads out to the firing squad. Sitting on my bed, I’m practically vibrating with rage. Why is it that everyone in my life cockblocks me? Okay, so maybe cockblocking isn’t an accurate description, but apt. I’m pissed, yes, but scared too. Carter warned him off six years ago, so will he be able to do the same now?

  TRISTAN

  Walking out the front door, I find Carter pacing the front lawn like a caged animal. The second he sees me walk out the door, he’s in my face.

  “You stay the fuck away from my baby sister!” he screams at me.

  “No,” I tell him calmly, but firmly. Grabbing the collar of my shirt, he jerks me forward.

  “I thought you were my brother. I asked you to stay away. You do this and we’re done. You’ll be dead to me and I’ll quit Triton Security.”

  This makes me pause. Fucking disappointing.

  Breaking his hold on my shirt, I shove him away. “If that’s what you feel you need to do, then by all means, burn that bridge. For fucking years, I’ve been tiptoeing around you, treating you with kid gloves. I’m done. She left you, Carter. Rayleen is gone, and yet you keep lugging her memory around like fucking armor or an excuse to act like a dick! I brought her up because you know that she’s the reason you’re acting like a flaming asshole twenty-four fucking seven.”

  His whole body goes into lockdown mode the second Rayleen’s name passes my lips. I doubt he’s even heard her name spoken out loud in years. In the second it takes to blink, his fist shoots out and punches me.

  Kid gloves off.

  “You’re such an asshole!” Pushing his shoulders hard, he stumbles back and I deck him right back. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do that for years!” I push him again, shoving his back against his truck.

  “My whole life, the only thing I wanted was to settle down and get married, have a houseful of kids, and love my fucking wife until the day I die. I knew when I laid eyes on her I would know. Hell, I grew up in a household where my parents had a love for each other that could never be rivaled, rattled, or duplicated. That’s all I ever wanted, but dumb fuck that I am, I gave up on that dream too quick and married that cunt, Tess. I was fucking coasting, just settling in life for every fucking thing. Then Becca came through that fucking door and I was a goner. I fell in love with her the second I laid eyes on her. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  For too long, everyone has walked on eggshells around him. That ends tonight.

  “That night when Becca came to your house was the night I told Tess I was done and threw in the towel. I told her the settlement and alimony I was willing to give her, along with the house, and she was on the phone with her friend, squealing, happy as a fucking clam the second I started packing, and I knew I was making the right choice. Fucking devastated me when the very next day, when I was coming in to tell you that I was going after Becca, you laid down the fucking law.”

  His eyes are glassy, and I know he’s remembering.

  “You were so fucked up back then, sliding down a whiskey-soaked hill that was taking you straight to fucking hell. You were fragile as fuck, barely holding on to your sanity. I know you loved her, man, you loved Ray the same way I love Becca. That shit is soul deep. With just one look, you’re hooked so deep, it’ll take an act of God to pull them out of your system.”

  He gets back in my face and hisses, “I know about you, Tris, I know what you like. You’re a sick fucking bastard and I don’t want you pushing that perverted shit on my fucking sister.” I laugh right in his fucking face.

  “I see even after all these years, that shit Tess told you is still festering.” I see the surprised look on his face and laugh. “Tess is a bitch. She reels you in with her angelic act, and fucking skills in the bedroom. Then, when she has you exactly where she wants you, she starts pushing, pushing for the nasty shit. The public sex, the swinging, pushing for you to fuck her friend, even her male friend, even though she knows you’re straight. Withholding sex to get you to comply. It wasn’t me, it was her. That night Becca came to your house, she saw it. She saw the way I was looking at Becca, saw the way I was looking at her. She sat there the whole night on the couch with you, filling your head with a bunch of shit.”

  He looks confused, and I want to punch him. “When’s the last time you saw me take anyone home?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I get up every morning, same time, same routine. I get off work after everyone else, stay late, come home, eat the same shit, go to sleep at the same time. I don’t go out unless everyone else drags my ass out. When was the last time you saw me go home with any woman?”

  I give him a minute to think about it. “I’ll make it easy on you. The last woman I fucked was Tess, and that was months before I kicked her bitch ass to the curb. Becca is it for me, and every time I thought about fucking another woman, I couldn’t get it up to save my life.

  “There hasn’t been anyone else because my heart only beats for Becca. So, you want to quit? Fucking fine, quit. I love you, man, like a brother, and I know that this shit is coming from a place of pain. Rayleen tore you the fuck up. You need to find a way to move on or get her back. You got over the drinking and then just faded away. You’re here, but you don’t actually participate in life. For years we let it go. No one knows the whole story; you haven’t once talked to anyone. It was like Carter was here one day, and the next, only a shell of a man was left. No matter what she did, you should find a way to move past it or get her back, because at this rate, you won’t be breathing for much longer. You’ll either turn back to the drink or eat a fucking gun.”

  Tears are sliding down his cheeks. “She was mine,” he whispers “She was my liquid sunshine that I drank down every fucking second of my life. She lit me up and made the world make fucking sense, and she left me. She chose someone else. Told me that she found her liquid sunshine, that it lit up her guts, her soul, and that they were getting married. She used my saying for her, the way I described my feelings for her, knowing that it would destroy me. She was my soulmate, my whole fucking world.”

  He’s pushing my chest again so hard, I step back. “She ripped out my soul and took it with her, and now nothing makes sense. Every day I get up and I’m so fucking pissed that I’m still fucking breathing! You don’t get past that, Tris, you don’t move on. If she’s married to the man of her dreams, I would never take that away from her.”

  “She loved you, Carter. She loved you more than life itself. Whoever she supposedly got married to was bullshit and you know it. Have you ever looked her up? At least checked to make sure she was happy?”

  “I can’t bring myself to. What if she’s happy and everything I felt was bullshit?”

  “You’ll never know unless you find out. And until you find out, you can’t move on. You need to take some time. Go to Florida and see your mom. Han
g out with Becca, take some time off work, see a therapist, whatever, but you can’t keep living like this, Carter.”

  “Fucking hell, Tris. How did this conversation get turned around on me?”

  I pull him in for a man hug and smack him on the back. I put my hand on the back of his neck and pull his forehead to mine.

  “You’re my brother, and I love you, man. Losing you would kill something in me. I want him back, I want the carefree brother back. Sometimes you have to walk through fire to get to the other side. You’re strong enough to do it because I got your back. Put in the work, and I’ll be here no matter what.”

  We pull apart and he looks at me funny. “You marry Becca and we’ll really be brothers.”

  I laugh. “I don’t need to marry your sister to know that you’re my brother from another mother.”

  He busts up laughing. “Fuck, I have been a shitty brother to her. You going to treat her right?”

  “Like a fucking queen.”

  He nods his head. “You don’t mind if I take some time and go visit my mom? Maybe when I get back, you can look into Rayleen for me? I don’t think I could do it, see her happy. I just…want someone else to look into it.”

  “First thing in the morning, it’ll be my priority.”

  He holds up his hands and I smack it, then pull him in for another hug. “Maybe think about texting Becca and telling her you approve. You know, maybe that will smooth my way,” I tell him with a smile.

  “I will, but probably give it a week or two. You need to do a little groveling.”

  I groan and smile as I hear him laugh his way to his truck. Taking a deep breath, I head back inside, momentarily worried that Becca is going to kick me out the second I step foot in the door.

  What I find is anything but.

  She’s singing, badly, belting out some Miley Cyrus. I can’t help the laugh that escapes when I see her sitting on her bed, tapping the screen of her kindle while painting her toenails.

  Leaning against the doorjamb, I take her in, every beautiful inch. She hits a particularly high note and I laugh. She looks at me, smiling.