Roustabout

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I could see the disappointment in her eyes.

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” she said quietly. “And I realized: the men who attacked you . . . they were wearing suits.”

  I tried to shrug but pain lanced through me and I ended up cringing.

  “Better class of mugger in that part of town,” I tried to joke.

  It didn’t work.

  “They were my father’s men.”

  Her voice was flat and expressionless—and it wasn’t a question.

  I didn’t answer.

  “I’m right. I know I’m right,” she said. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell the police. I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”

  She took a shuddering breath.

  I shook my head. “The dude gets what he wants.”

  “Is it because . . . did he pay you off? Did he pay you to walk away from me?”

  The vulnerability in her voice hurt more than the Senator’s goons. I hated that she thought that about me, but I was letting her go and it was better that she hated me than hated her father.

  “Did he offer?” she insisted.

  I gave a bitter chuckle.

  She straightened her shoulders, tossing her hair back as she did so.

  “How much did it take? Ten thousand dollars? Five? Or maybe just one.”

  She stood up and stared down at me. “I must be cheaper than I thought.”

  And then she was the one walking away.

  I wanted to call after her; I wanted to tell her that no amount of money would ever have bought me off. But maybe it was better this way. She’d leave and have no good memories of me—nothing to regret. I lay back in the hospital bed and let the pain wash through as my head thudded heavily against the hard pillow.

  A few minutes later, a nurse approached with two small white pills and a cup of water, and helped me to sit up.

  “These will help with the pain,” she said. “You’ll need to stay till morning, but then your girlfriend can . . .”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said, interrupting her. A few minutes later, a nurse approached with two small white pills and a cup of water, and helped me to sit up.

  She glanced down the empty corridor and her eyes softened in sympathy.

  “Keep your arm in a sling for at least two weeks, then speak to a physical therapist about gentle exercises to help build up the muscles again.” She smiled professionally, maybe even kindly. “And don’t be a guy about taking pain meds—they’re there to help you.”

  I didn’t even have the energy to do more than give her a weak smile.

  “Sure,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”

  She nodded and patted me on my good shoulder.

  “Be well, Mr. McCoy.”

  Tucker

  Tera walked away and didn’t look back, but that was the best thing for her. I’d brought nothing but trouble. She’d be better off without me.

  Everything hurt until the pain pills kicked in, leaving me hazy and weak. The Duke was still at Tera’s hotel, not that I could ride it for a couple of weeks. Not that I had anywhere to go.

  I stayed the night at the hospital, lying awake despite the pain and overwhelming tiredness. Nobody bothered me, but the friendly nurse brought me a cup of coffee as she was going off shift.

  “Do you have somewhere to go?” she asked, handing me the scalding black liquid.

  “Yeah, just not sure how I’ll get there with one wing clipped,” I said, forcing out a smile.

  “I’ll take you to reception,” she offered helpfully. “You can call a cab from there.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

  While we were talking, a nurse I hadn’t seen before arrived with my discharge notes and meds in a paper bag.

  “Take two every four hours,” she said, scanning over the paperwork, “but no more than eight in a 24 hour period.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ll take him to reception, Grace,” said the friendly nurse. “I’m going that way.”

  She found a wheelchair and insisted on pushing me to reception, saying it was hospital policy. Honestly, I was too damn tired and sore to care.

  I thanked her and thought she was going to leave, but she hesitated.

  “Do you have far to go?”

  Now there was a question.

  “That might be a bit of an issue,” I admitted. “My friends are in Minnesota at the moment and I rode here on my motorcycle.”

  “Oh! I thought you were from around here. Your accent . . .”

  I laughed dully. “Yep, still got it even though I haven’t lived here in 12 years.”

  She looked so concerned that I gave her my best smile.

  “Hey, thanks for everything you’ve done. You’ve been great. Even the coffee,” I said, raising the Styrofoam cup and winking at her with my good eye.

  She smiled. “Hmm, well, you seem much better. Take care of that arm, Mr. McCoy.”

  As she walked away, I finished the bitter brew that tasted like old socks. My head was fuzzy from the meds and lack of sleep, plus breathing kind of hurt, so it was hard to concentrate on anything. I hoped the coffee would help.

  I had two immediate projects: find somewhere to store the Duke until I could ship her back to the carnival, and I had to talk to Renee. I wasn’t looking forward to either.

  And leave Tera the fuck alone.

  When I’d finished the coffee, I called a cab. I told the driver to take me to the Duke. It was fucking depressing to think I wouldn’t be able to ride her for a while. My shoulder throbbed mercilessly, so I grabbed my backpack, trying to ignore the burning pain. I knew one way to distract myself: I texted Renee to meet me at the diner I’d visited on my first morning.

  She didn’t reply, but I knew she’d come.

  The diner was nearly empty, but the server gave a shocked gasp as I walked through the restaurant. I washed up in the tiny bathroom and managed to get the blood out of my hair. The shirt was ruined so I shoved it in the trash. Then I realized that trying to wear a t-shirt when I couldn’t move my arm wasn’t going to work. The only other shirt I had with buttons was creased as hell. Whatever.

  Looking almost human, I ordered the breakfast special, but my appetite was off. I ate the eggs and chewed through one of the dollar pancakes, but everything tasted weird. I drank some more coffee and persuaded the sour-looking server to let me charge my cell phone.

  I’d been there nearly an hour when I saw my stepbrother’s rusty truck pull up. I rubbed my temples and really hoped that Jackson wasn’t driving—I wasn’t in any shape to kick his ass today.

  I was almost relieved when Renee jumped out of the truck and strode into the diner, a determined look on her face. She did a double-take when she saw me.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Cut myself shaving.”

  “Did Jackson do that?”

  I threw her an amused look.

  “That bucket of lard couldn’t hit his way out of a wet paper bag. Although,” I admitted, “he might have a shot right now.”

  “Then who?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I didn’t think you were that unpopular in town.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Unless it’s to do with that stuck up bitch you were with at the funeral. Bet her daddy didn’t like that she’s being screwed by a piece of trailer trash.”

  I stared at her coolly. “You speak about Tera that way again and I’ll walk out the door right now. You’ll get nothing. You’ll have to take me to court and prove that Scotty is mine.”

  Her mouth clamped shut and she looked like she was trying to burn my ass to ash with her glare.

  “Okay,” I grimaced. “Now can we have a conversation about our . . . about Scotty?”

  She nodded once, but didn’t speak.

  I rubbed my eyes and leaned back in my seat. “You want a coffee or something?”

  “Sure.”

  I waved at the waitress, and I saw her
small eyes darting between us.

  “Renee?”

  “Hey, Della. Can I get a coffee and blueberry muffin?” Then Renee jerked a thumb at me. “He’s payin’.”

  I couldn’t help grinning at that, and Renee allowed herself a thin smile in return.

  “So, how are we going to do this?” I asked when the waitress had left, still casting suspicious glances at us. “Have you said anything to Scotty yet?”

  Renee shifted in her seat. “He doesn’t need to know.”

  I stared at her in amazement. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  She shot me a defiant look. “Unless you can give us enough money to get the hell away, we have to stay living here. You don’t think Jackson would toss us out if he knew?”

  I thought about that: yeah, he definitely would.

  “How much money would you need to be able to leave?” I asked quietly.

  She licked her lips, clearly working out how much she could screw me for.

  “Forty thousand.”

  I laughed at her incredulously. “You’re crazy!

  “It’s not even four thousand for each year of Scotty’s life,” she snapped back.

  “That’s not my fault! I would have stayed.”

  I shook my head as I rubbed my sore shoulder absently.

  “I don’t have that kind of money, Ren.” Then I thought of the Duke—and the fact that I wouldn’t be able to ride for a while. “But . . .”

  Her eyes lit up with hope.

  “But I can get maybe half that.”

  “How soon?”

  “Couple of days. But I’ll need that DNA test.”

  She scowled. “I told you: I don’t have money for that.”

  “Fine, then let’s take a cab to the lab and get it done now. I’ll pay.”

  “Scotty’s busy today.”

  I gave her a hard stare. “He can be un-busy. He’s my kid—I want to get to know him.”

  “What am I supposed to tell him?”

  “Jeez, I don’t know! How about the truth?”

  “I told you—I can’t.”

  Something wasn’t adding up here. If she wanted out that badly, she would do anything, wouldn’t she? Yeah, she totally would. Anything. Including scamming me.

  “I guess I owe him a few birthday presents,” I said casually. “When’s his birthday?”

  She didn’t answer immediately. Did that mean she was working it out?

  “It would have to be before the middle of March, because I left in June,” I said tightly. “Don’t even think about lying—I could ask anyone who knows him and they’d tell me the truth. Even if you won’t.”

  Her chin jutted out as she stared at me.

  “You asshole! He was born March 13th. He’s yours. You’re just a shitty excuse for a father.”

  My lungs contracted and I had to get away.

  I pushed out of the chair so fast it tipped over. Heads turned and the waitress tried to give me the check, but a red rage was firing through me. I kicked open the diner’s door and let the fury burst free.

  I wanted to lash out at Renee. I wanted to hurt her the way she’d hurt me 12 years ago and again now. Twelve years! I should have known about my son. I should have known. I shouldn’t have left—definitely shouldn’t have left him with fucking Jackson for a father.

  I paced up and down the sidewalk, adrenaline making my whole body quiver with pent up fury.

  Too late, I realized that Renee had followed me into the street.

  I reeled around and yelled in her face.

  “What the fuck did I ever do to you, Ren? Why do you keep shitting on me? You think I wouldn’t have taken Scotty in a heartbeat if I’d known? You think I wouldn’t have helped you? I have no one! Nothing! I got a crappy mom and a stepfather who beat the shit out of me every day and twice on Sundays. You were the only good thing I had, and you . . .”

  I couldn’t speak anymore and if I didn’t get away from her I’d do something really stupid.

  I turned and punched the wall, seeing the skin split and watching as blood ran from my knuckles for the second time in two days.

  “Tucker, no!”

  She tried to grab my arm, but I shook her off and swung at the wall again, slamming my knuckles against the rough brick and hearing a satisfying crunch.

  “I’m sorry!” she cried out. “I’m sorry! Tucker, stop!”

  Her words penetrated the red mist and I lowered my hand.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I was young and stupid. That’s not an excuse, I know. I was desperate . . . I’ve been desperate for a long time.”

  I looked at her—really looked. The last 12 years hadn’t been kind. Deep grooves edged her mouth and her forehead was set in a frown, her skin dry and dull-looking. Her blue eyes that used to captivate me were diamond hard, although anguished now.

  I couldn’t hold the anger inside me any longer—I knew what she was prepared to do to get out. And I couldn’t blame her.

  “Come on,” she said softly. “Let me take care of your hand.”

  I stepped away from her.

  “I don’t need your help. Not anymore.”

  I walked back in the diner, ignoring the stares and muttered comments.

  In the bathroom, I rinsed off the blood and watched as the flesh swelled across the knuckles and started to bruise.

  Great, just what I needed—now I was even more banged up.

  I leaned my forehead against the greasy glass of the mirror and forced myself to calm the fuck down.

  After a few minutes, the cold water was running clear. Spent adrenaline and unfamiliar emotion had left me feeling exhausted and empty.

  I decided to pay the bill, walk to the fleapit and get my room back.

  But Renee was waiting for me.

  “That wasn’t too smart,” she said, her hands on her hips.

  “Well, no one ever accused me of that,” I bit out. “Tucker McCoy is everyone’s fool. Line up! Line up! Let’s drown the clown.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about but you need to calm the hell down,” she hissed.

  Folks were looking and I knew that she was right, but it didn’t mean I had to like it.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  And she tugged my good arm toward the door.

  “Like I’d go anywhere with you,” I snarled at her.

  She just shrugged. “You got anywhere else to be? Didn’t think so. Now get in the truck.”

  Defeated, in pain, and too damn tired to argue, I climbed into the truck and waited for her to walk around to the driver’s side.

  The engine coughed and hiccupped, protesting loudly. I suspected the filters were clogged, but, whatever—not my problem. Or maybe it was. I was a father now—I should fix stuff for my family. But what was Renee? How did she fit in? How did we fit?

  I let my head rest against the seat and closed my eyes. I didn’t know where she was taking me and I was past caring.

  To a basketball court, as it turned out.

  “Why are we . . . ?”

  I recognized Scotty playing with some older kids.

  I watched for a few minutes while Scotty raced around the court, dodging, turning, spinning and beating out the older guys who towered over him.

  “He’s good,” Renee said softly. “Really good. But he’s got no chance if he stays here. Another year and it’ll be booze and weed and girls—you know how it goes, Tucker, you lived here. You know.

  “There’s a program for kids like him in Richmond. Jackson isn’t interested and just says we haven’t got the money to waste.” Her voice softened from disgust to despair. “It’s his chance to get out of here, Tucker. Mine, too.”

  I watched the game for several more minutes, aware that Renee was staring at me the whole time.

  I didn’t speak because I had no clue what to say, and I couldn’t find a joke inside me to break the silence.

  Eventually, it was Renee
who spoke.

  “I never meant for you to find out about Randolph . . . well, you know. I wouldn’t have deliberately hurt you.” She sighed. “I know you think we were in love, Tucker, but we weren’t. I did care about you. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I did.” She paused, “I do.”

  I shook my head in disbelief and her voice became more urgent.

  “When you left, no one knew where you’d gone. You just disappeared. I thought you’d be back when you cooled down. But days passed, then weeks and then it was months. Me and Jackson . . . well, we got together. When I knew I was pregnant, I had to drop out of school before Scotty came along.” She sighed. “I didn’t know what had happened to you until a year ago. I caught a news program about how that famous stuntman you ride with broke his back—and they mentioned your name. I couldn’t believe it. All I could think about was getting in touch with you.”

  “For money.”

  There was a painfully long pause

  “Yes,” she admitted at last. “Money for Scotty.”

  I shook my head again, incredulous, unable to look at her. Then Renee gently laid her hand on my arm.

  “That girl, the Senator’s daughter—you like her, don’t you?”

  It didn’t matter what I felt about Tera. Not anymore.

  “I could tell she likes you, too. I mean, hell, she came to your momma’s funeral.”

  “Yeah?” I said harshly. “Well, she sure doesn’t like me after what you said to her.”

  Renee sighed. “I could talk to her . . .”

  “You’ve done enough already. Anyway, she probably already left town.”

  Renee stopped talking and closed her eyes for a moment, her shoulders slumped.

  “Where do you want to go? I’ll drive you.”

  “The Happy Eater Motel.”

  “That dump?” she said in surprise.

  I glanced across at her. “I told you I didn’t have money.”

  We drove in silence and when she pulled up outside the hotel, I had nothing to say to her.

  “Tucker, I’m sorry,” she said again as I started to walk away. “I’ll . . . I’ll get the DNA test. I’ll do it today.”

  I nodded, but couldn’t look at her.

  “I’m heading there now—I’ll tell them you’ll be along with Scotty later.”

  Life was changing so fast. I was a father. I had a kid. What the hell did I know about being a father? I straightened up and stared at the sky.