Steal My Girl

by Casey McMillin

  "Ye just quit," he said.

  "You'll still have to take trips with the fishing business, though, right?" I asked.

  "Yeah, but the longest we'll be gone is a few days at a time. I hate to even tell you this, though, because I don't know when it'll happen, and I don't want ye to have yer hopes up that it'll be tomorrow or anything. It could be years."

  I was silent for a second, thinking about everything. "Rory, as of yesterday, I had no idea if I'd ever see you again. I thought that email I sent… I thought there was a good chance this wouldn't happen." I hesitated and poked him again. "But, now—now that it is happening, now that I've got my heart set on having you—I'm not really concerned with how it plays out… just that it does."

  "It's about time ye see it my way," he said. He bent to put a kiss on my forehead. "Am I going to disturb yer cousin if I make some coffee?"

  "No," I said. I cuddled into the soft bed, feeling cozy at the thought of Rory McDonald making himself at home in my house. "Will you bring me a cup if I just lay here like a lazy bones? Or is that too much to ask?" I asked stretching.

  He hovered over me and put another kiss on my head. "I'd love to bring ye a cup. Do I need to feed Thor?"

  "He's good. I'll get him when I get up."

  "Should I take him outside?"

  "If you want. He'd probably love that."

  "All right. If yer asleep when I come back, I'll just let ye sleep while I have coffee and take care of a few emails."

  "I won't go back to sleep, but you can email either way," I said. "I should probably take a shower."

  "All right. Well, I'm gonna go make coffee and take Thor out. I'll be back in a minute."

  I watched him leave. He pulled his shirt on, but didn't button it all the way and went out the door, snapping his fingers for Thor to follow him.

  I flopped back onto the bed and lay there for a few minutes before crossing to the bathroom to take a shower. I was completely naked (and still slightly exhausted and delirious), so I stared at myself in the mirror for perhaps longer than I normally would.

  It took a minute before I remembered to look for the hickey he had given me. I couldn't remember which side it had been on but as I got closer to the mirror I located the spot. It was much lighter than I thought it would be. I stared at it thinking it was crazy that I could barely see it when I was sure he'd been sucking hard enough to leave a big red blotch on my neck. He was a hickey artist. It was just enough for me to see he'd been there, but not enough for my parents to notice. Maybe I'd wear a scarf anyway, just for fun. I stared at it for a few seconds before getting in the shower. I still hadn't washed the makeup off from the night before, and it felt great to make myself fresh and clean.

  By the time I got out, Rory was sitting on the couch at the foot of my bed with two cups of coffee on the little table next to him. He had his elbows resting on his knees and was staring down at his phone. He straightened when I came in, and when he made eye contact with me, his eyes brightened, which made me feel happy down to my very bones.

  ***

  About an hour later, we were crammed into my parents' kitchen for pancake breakfast. My dad had a whole system where he premade the cakes and kept them warm in the oven. Sometimes dad would make the smiley face for you, and sometimes he'd be in the weeds, and we'd step in and decorate our own. Either way, it had to be a smiley face—nothing else would do. My dad and aunt were both very superstitious about that and would never, ever let anyone make something else. Steven tried it one time when he was twelve and there was a major talking-to because of it. On New Year's Day, all pancakes are smiley faced—period.

  The kitchen was buzzing with activity by the time Rory and I walked in. I wondered if this was the first my dad knew about Rory spending the night and if he would have an issue with it. Actually, I knew he would have an issue with it. The question was… would he embarrass me about it.

  "I can't help it if Charlotte fell in love with Connor Newman," Steven said as we walked in.

  They were obviously in the middle of a conversation, and I felt relieved, like Rory and I might fly under the radar.

  "I did not!" Charlotte said.

  "He told me he got your fuckin' number."

  "Steven James!"

  "It's okay Uncle Alan," Charlotte said. She looked at Steven with an insincere smile. "I know he doesn't mean anything by it. He's just trying to do my brother a favor by distracting us from the whole receptionist thing."

  Everyone stopped looking at Charlotte and turned to face Thomas, who stared down at his phone and acted like he didn't hear anything.

  "Are you going to fire her, honey?" my mom asked.

  Dad gave her a confused look. "Why would I do that?"

  "Because she kissed your nephew."

  "So?"

  "So he's a minor."

  "Shit mom stop, you're embarrassing us. He's seventeen. It's no big deal."

  "Oh it's a big deal all right," my aunt chimed in.

  She reached out and hit Thomas on the back of the head, and he gave her an injured expression. "You're lucky her husband didn't catch you and kill you."

  "He can't mess with us," Steven said, slapping his chest and trying to act all gangsta. Thomas had the decency to look ashamed, and Steven just tisked at him for not standing up for himself.

  I didn't care who was saying what as long as the topic wasn’t Rory and the fact that he didn't go home last night.

  I thought I got off easy until a few minutes later when I went to get a glass out of the cabinet. Dad came up along side me. He was wearing his traditional apron and carrying a plastic spatula in one hand.

  "Did this young man go home last night and come back for breakfast this morning?"

  I looked around to make sure, and thank God, he was speaking softly enough that I was the only one who'd heard him. I gave him a frustrated glare that told him to rethink the ridiculous question.

  "You barely know him, Megan."

  "Well, it's too late."

  He closed his eyes, and I could tell the thought pained him.

  "I trust him, Dad. I know it seems new and everything, but I trust him. I think he'll be good to me."

  He leveled me with a stare. "He better be good to you, Megan," he said.

  Rory could tell my dad and I were talking, and instead of giving us space like I thought he'd do, he came over to us and put an arm around me. My dad made eye contact with him, reluctantly at first, but then they proceeded to communicate with their eyes things I couldn’t understand. I watched my dad's expression gradually shift from skeptical and cautionary to resolved (and probably still cautionary), but there was a softness to my dad's expression that hadn't been there at first.

  "I'm gonna be good to her," Rory whispered.

  "You said that."

  "I mean it."

  "I hope so. She's special."

  "I know. I won't take her for granted."

  "I have good surgical tools, and there are all sorts of creative things I can do to you with them."

  Rory gave me a squeeze and smiled broadly at my dad. "I've been warned."

  My dad turned away, but then looked back at us out of the corner of his eye. One side of his mouth lifted in a smile.

  "Drake was talking about me going over to your house to hang out sometime," Steven said, coming to stand next to Rory and me.

  Rory didn't drop the grasp he had on me. If anything, he tightened it.

  "Drake has not been talking about that, I'm sure," I said. "Yes he has, bitch, you don't know shit."

  I didn't think twice about it. That was just the way Steven spoke—all gangsta all the time.

  Rory stared at Steven. He smiled, but I could tell there was an edge of sarcasm to it. "I'm good with ye coming by the house sometime, but let me tell ye somethin'. Yer never gonna be able to call yer sister that again. And ye need to tell her yer sorry for doing it the first time."

  I laughed. "We'll be here all day while he apologizes," I said.

&nbs
p; Rory looked at Steven who threw his hands up in surrender. "It's nothing. It's a term of endearment. I say it all the time."

  "Not anymore ye don’t—at least not to yer sister. Ye can use it to endear other people, but ye won't be saying that to yer sister."

  "Or your mother!" my dad chimed in.

  Aunt P.J. elbowed uncle Jamey, who said, "Or your aunt!"

  Steven didn't call my mom or aunt that—not to their faces anyway. He was a hooligan, but not quite that bad. It was a good way to laugh off the topic, but the point had been taken and everyone in the room knew Steven would never call me a bitch again.

  We sat there and ate plate-sized pancakes while sharing companionable conversation. Mostly we retold funny stories about things that happened the night before, leaving out topics like Thomas' incident with Anne and Charlotte's new crush since those things had already been discussed.

  My aunt told Rory she might be interested in getting a dog like Thor, but changed her mind when he told her what he had to pay for him. Rory wasn't the type to walk around saying what he spent on things, but she begged him and he finally gave her a ballpark figure by nodding when she rattled off numbers. This conversation ended with us having to go get Thor and bring him over to the house so they could appreciate him a little more.

  Chapter 21

  After breakfast, Rory mentioned bringing Thor to his house so Tom could meet him. My cousins were supposed to leave first thing in the morning and I hated to miss out on the last few hours with them, so I told him he could bring Thor to his house and I'd meet him there for dinner later that night. He insisted I come and we bring my cousins with us, and after a little deliberation, Charlotte and Sam decided to venture over to Captain Tom's with Rory and me.

  Steven and Thomas were at Steven's friend's house, and would most assuredly be pissed when they found out Sam and Charlotte got to go over there, but I'd just have to deal with that when the time came. Thomas might not care so much, but I figured I'd never hear the end of it from my brother.

  Tom Kelly was sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on a leather ottoman when we came in. He stood when we entered the room, but immediately bent when Thor ran ahead of us. Thor went right up to Tom, sat down, and pawed the ground a few times. Then, he looked over at me as if waiting for me to tell him what a good boy he was.

  "Dad, really?" Rory said.

  Tom smiled and threw his hands up. "What? It's New Year's."

  In a moment of not wanting my cousins to have a chance to put everything together, I said, "Where are Addie and Drake?"

  "Drake's room or the shop," Tom said. "Who are your friends?"

  "I'm sorry," I said. "These are my cousins from Ohio. Sam and Charlotte. They're twins."

  "Welcome to Florida, twin cousins from Ohio," Tom said, shaking their hands—first Sam then Charlotte. I knew from experience what a charmer Tom was, and I watched Charlotte watch him. I knew she noticed his gold tooth; I could see her checking it out. She glanced at me when Tom was talking to Sam, and we shared a conspiratorial smile regarding Tom's odd appeal. He sat on the couch and offered for us to hang out a while.

  For some reason, it was hard for me to fully embrace that I belonged there. I almost felt like I needed to check in with Addie—like I was in her territory. I didn't quite know how to act because of it. Tom was saying something to Rory, and I was daydreaming about being on Addie's turf when my cousin Sam did the unthinkable.

  I heard him say, "Where'd you get that skull?"

  I knew that Tom Kelly, ruthless pirate that he was, got that skull by detaching it from another human's body, and I swallowed hard as I turned to face Tom and wait for his answer. I wished I could curl into a ball. That wasn't an option so I just stared at Tom, terrified and hoping it didn't show.

  He looked Sam in the eye and gave him a thoughtful smile. "You got a minute?"

  "Sure," Sam said.

  Tom patted the couch, and Sam smiled as he walked around the ottoman to find a spot on the huge sectional. Charlotte sat next to Sam, and Rory and I sat in the open spot on the other end of the couch.

  Tom had been petting Thor while we found our places, and when I looked at him again, I could see that he found out about Thor's extreme tendencies to soak up love like the big affection slut he was. Tom looked at me with one of his eyebrows crooked way up.

  I giggled. "He came like that," I said.

  "If I took my hand out from under his head, he'd fall. That's how hard he's leaning on me right now."

  "Oh, I know," I said smiling broadly at them.

  "Ye can switch sides, and he'll lean the other way," Rory said.

  Tom did as he suggested, and Thor didn't disappoint. He leaned into Tom's hand with closed eyes, and Tom just stared at him laughing and looking a little confused.

  "You got this one from Gary?"

  "Yeah, but Gary hadn't even met him yet. He'll just get the next one they have trained."

  "He won't be as good as this one, though," Tom said, in a soft tone.

  "No he won't," I agreed, talking to Thor.

  "Do you mind if I touch it?" Sam asked.

  Dang it, Sam, was the curiosity that hard to handle? I shot him a wide-eyed glare for bringing it up again. The freaking skull had been lying right there in plain sight on the ottoman. I hadn't even thought to warn Sam and Charlotte about it, and never dreamed he would say anything. Sam probably knew they were pirates from Steven, and was just playing dumb to try to get him to talk about it. I tried to give Sam another warning glance when no one else was looking, but I don't think he saw me.

  "Go ahead," Tom said, he looked at me. "Can I call him onto the couch?"

  I shrugged and nodded. "If you're okay with him shedding."

  Tom smiled, sat back, and patted the spot next to him. Thor hesitated all of zero seconds before bounding onto the couch and curling up next to him. "I'm getting me one of these," Tom said.

  "My mom wants him too," Charlotte said.

  Sam reached out and grabbed the skull. He sat back with it, holding it carefully and inspecting it like it was a priceless artifact.

  "It's human and it's real," Tom said. "So if that part of the story's gonna freak you out, then I'll refrain from tellin' the rest of it. Take a second to think about it. Think about whether you want to hear the story and whether or not you even want to be holding that thing."

  "I'm good with that," Sam said, not taking his eyes off the skull. Then he glanced at Charlotte. "Are you good with it?"

  She nodded and Tom smiled as he absentmindedly rubbed Thor's head.

  "This skull goes everywhere I do. It's mine. I killed the person it used to belong to, and I take it with me everywhere I go." He paused and reached over the back of the couch to get his water that was on a little table. It was almost as if he was giving us the chance to back out of hearing the rest of the story. He took a sip of water before continuing, but we all waited in silence for him to continue. "Now this thing has a few different stories that go along with it. Rory's heard 'em all, but most others have only heard the one I want them to hear."

  "We want the truest one." Sam said.

  "Oh, I was planning on telling you the truth," Tom said.

  "Is that what you always say?" Sam asked.

  Tom smiled. "Probably."

  "Come here," I heard Rory whisper. I was sitting right beside him, but I got closer, until I was touching him. He put an arm behind me and I leaned against his chest. I wasn't going to be the first to touch him in front of everyone, but I certainly wouldn't turn him down if he initiated. I basked in the feeling of being next to him. I know that word's a little dramatic for sitting next to someone on the couch, but basking is the only way to describe what I was doing. Absolute pleasure radiated out of me as I snuggled up next to Rory to listen to Tom's story.

  "Truth is, it belonged to a guy in Haiti. I had a regular stop in Saint-Marc and got to be friends with some of the locals. There was a village thirty miles inland where a man named Simon Henri had bee
n doing very bad things to women and children for a number of years. I'll let you use your imagination because it probably won't do him justice. He hurt a lot of people. He was a bad man, and the whole village was scared of him and had no idea how to stop him."

  "Couldn't they call the cops?"

  "There are no cops in this kind of place. We're talking ramshackle housing with no plumbing, and it's not like he was tearing through the town being obvious about it. Everything he did was behind closed doors."

  "How'd you even know about him?"

  "One of those kids that he mistreated grew up to become a resourceful young man who got out of there and made his way to the city. He was homeless, but got work as a busboy at a restaurant. It was one I went to every time we were in port there in Saint-Marc, and I got to know the boy over a few years."

  "A few years?" I asked, feeling shocked that it took them that long to get around to it.

  Tom smiled. "It wasn't the type of thing you bring up the first time you meet someone," he said. "Especially when I only talked to him a couple minutes each time I saw him."

  "How old was he?" Sam asked.

  "Fourteen or so when I first met him and sixteen or seventeen when I helped him out."

  "And you helped him by taking care of Simon?"

  "Exactly." Tom acted like that was all he was going to say and we all just sort of sat there in silence a few seconds.

  "Do we get to hear how it all went down?" I asked. "If this is the true version," I added with a challenging smile.

  He let out a laugh. "I guess I have to tell you now—if I'm gonna prove it's true."

  "Manny was angry at something. I could tell when he came by to clear the table. He had worked his way up, and by that point, was sort of in charge of the bussers and runners, so he didn't always clear the tables. But this day he did, and I couldn't help but notice how angry he was when he came by. He was normally really friendly and cheerful, and the change in him made me ask what was the matter. He didn't want to tell me, and looked around like he might get in trouble, but then confided in me about this man called Simon Henri who had been silently terrorizing his village for years, and no one knew how to stop him." Tom paused for a second, as if he might stop there, but again, none of us said a word, so he continued. "I went to the village with him the very next day. Simon Henri was playing dominoes with some other men around a rickety old table made from a milk crate. He looked mean, and I hated him from the second I laid eyes on him. I was excited when Manny identified him as Simon, because I knew in an instant and from a distance that I wanted to kill that man. Manny told me everyone in the village, including all the men, wanted him dead, but no one could do anything about it. It was with this knowledge that I walked up to him and told him he was gonna die that day. Manny stayed behind, and I approached the group of men by myself. I was carrying a gun at my side and two knives, but all of them were concealed. I looked at the other three of them briefly before making eye contact with Simon. 'I heard you don't mind hurting people who are weaker than you, and I'm here to settle up on that,' I said to him—except I spoke in French, of course. He smiled and told me I could go fuck myself, also in French. I then asked the people standing around and the ones playing dominoes whether they wanted it to be a public execution or if they wanted me to take care of him in private."