by Shyla Colt
“Yeah, actually I do. I think I can sleep now. You?”
“Same,” he says.
“Talk to you later on today?”
“Yeah. I’d like that.” The smile is audible.
I disconnect feeling better for a reason I can’t explain and don’t want to examine too thoroughly. The relief of the pressure squeezing me like a vise is all that matters. I stand, knowing sleep won’t be coming, and walk into the kitchen. My hair is curled up around my edges from sweat. I’m gross, but too on edge to shower. I fill a black cast iron kettle, set it on my stove, and light the gas burner.
The familiar actions continue to help me decompress. I pull out my tin of Chamomile tea, and my favorite mug—a coloring changing ‘I solemnly swear I’m up to no good’ mug. I scoop two tablespoons full of raw sugar inside and wait for the magic to happen on the stove. Bracing my hands on the counter, I round my back, lengthen my spine, and repeat.
I took up yoga years ago to manage the too tight muscles in my back, and the crowded head space that housed my thoughts. I could never shut off the flow of imagery and to-do lists when I laid down. A co-worker suggested I try yoga when I stumbled onto a movie set with an extra-large coffee and heavy concealer. I’m not an actress or a model, but if you come in looking like hell, folks don’t want you to touch their makeup.
The whistle blows, and I prepare my tea as I make a to-do list in my head to think about anything else but that night.
“HOW ARE YOU?”
I glance at my sister, Riley, and shrug as I push the pickled beets and lettuce together then take a bite. I chew slowly to gain more time before I speak. Always intuitive, my sister—a physical therapist and Reiki Master—is insanely good at reading people, especially if they’re family.
“If you say fine, I’m going to call you out on it,” Riley says as she wags her fork at me.
I swallow and sigh. “I don’t know how to answer that. I mean I’m not physically harmed, but my head isn’t screwed back on straight just yet. It’s changed the filter I see the world through. I’ll never be able to go back totally. I hope in time I won’t be so jaded.”
Riley purses her fire engine red lips. Her thin eyebrows draw together, and she leans in. Her cloud of pink curls dances around her face. “Jaded how?”
“I’m always looking over my shoulder, and trying to read people and my surroundings. I don’t feel safe anymore. It’s a state of being we live in without thinking on it. We know the world’s not the best, but it doesn’t affect us directly until it does.”
“I don’t like this.”
“Yeah, well me either.” I stab the salad and bring it to my mouth. It might as well be sawdust. I can’t taste anything as the anger flares. I know she’s trying to help, but it’s dredging everything up and adding to my unease.
“You need to have your chakra realigned.”
I huff and blow the strands of hair away from my face. “Riley.”
“What? I’m serious. A traumatic event like this can throw everything off. I can look at you and tell you’re not yourself.”
Of course I’m not! I got robbed and damn near raped. I bite my tongue to keep from taking out misplaced anger on her. I’m all for believing what makes sense, and if I’m honest, I’ve seen Reiki do some wonderful things. I don’t believe for a second it can fix what’s going on with me. I clutch the fork.
“Q?”
“I hear you, Riley. If you want me to make an appointment for an alignment, I’ll do that.”
“Your energy is off, baby sister. I can take one look at you and see that. Your eyes don’t hold their normal spark.”
“Can you blame me?” I ask with a huff. “It’s not like being robbed at gunpoint and damn near dragged off is an event you recover from in a week or two weeks. It’s going to take some time, and having everyone hover over me giving me those ‘Poor Quinn’ expressions isn’t helping me any.”
“What do you want us to do? We’re worried, and you always hold everything so damn close to your chest it’s like using a pry bar to loosen you up.”
“Because I like to share when I’m ready and not before. You never understood that. I’m like Dad. We like to sit on things, turn them around in our head, and get comfortable with our thoughts before we invite anyone else into our problems.”
Riley huffs. “First of all, you weren’t always like this. And no ... what you like to do is pretend everything is fine when it’s not.”
“Oh no, we know things aren’t okay, believe me,” I snort. It was about control and owning your emotions. I made the mistake of letting my ex-fiancé, Bryan, control and manipulate me when I was young and in the throes of puppy love. It went on for longer than it should have because I didn’t know better. Since then I guarded myself with the ferociousness of a pit bull protecting its owners from peril.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
“I get that. The thing is, I’m still figuring it all out. Give me space to work through it.”
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through this alone—”
Reaching across the table, I grab her wrist. “I know I’m not, Ri. I’m going to be fine eventually. I’m just wading in the deep at the moment. You know what that’s like. You’re a profound thinker, too. Look, I’ll come in for an alignment, okay?” I say, grasping at the peace offering.
“Fine,” she mumbles.
“Enough about me. Everyone and their cousins know about what’s happened to me recently. What’s going on with you?”
She huffs. “I’m going to allow the topic swap, but I want you to know I’m on to you.” She takes a healthy sip of her Pinot Noir, and I know she’s about to drop something juicy. “Cyan read for me the other day, and she thinks Mr. Right will finally be showing up.”
My eyes widen. Her best friend, Cyan, has a way of speaking things that come to pass. One had to be pretty damn accurate to make their living as a psychic, with her own parlor, a black book full of clients, and blog radio station. I’m convinced she’s the real deal.
“And how do you feel about that?” I ask. My sister is high energy. The kind that burned out pretty much every guy she’d ever dated.
“Nervous, but ready. Forty is knocking on the door, and I’m ready to settle down with the right person and maybe think about children. I don’t know. I’m open for adoption and being a foster parent, too. Who knows?”
The excitement in her voice makes me grin. It’s been a long time coming for her.
OLLIE
“Thanks, man, you’re a life saver,” I say as Houston smooths the clean swatch of white gauze over my back, keeping it in place with medical tape.
“Anytime, brother. Though, I’m shocked Allie isn’t over here doing this. You were on-ish again, weren’t you?”
“Naw, man, we were adding benefits to an already complicated situation.”
“Stupid.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“But not anymore?” Houston asks.
“No, it was pointless. If I was going to settle down with her permanently, I already would’ve. I mean not even Rolly could keep us from crumbling piece by piece. She’s too needy and moody. It used to keep things exciting. I’m too old for that shit show now, and I don’t want my son to think its okay to be an adult that has temper tantrums.” I shake my head thinking of her departure from the hospital. Every conversation we’ve had since has been strictly about Rolly and ice-cold.
“Well she is his mother, so he’s going to see it. She may be high drama, but she loves Rolly and takes good care of him.”
“Thank God for that. When we’re not together, she doesn’t act like that, man. It’s like she’s another person. Which is what used to pull me back in. I’d think maybe she changed.”
“Why the sudden wake-up call?” Houston steps back.
I sigh as I study the dime-sized hole slowly healing. Looking at it now you would never guess it collapsed my lung. I complete the bandage swa
p on my chest. “Ain’t nothing like staring death in the face to make you understand what matters, what’s not working, and what you really want. This thing with me and Allie is never going to be more than a joke of a relationship. It’s not that she’s younger. It has to do with us not gelling on a deeper level. I think we keep hooking up because after four years it’s comfortable and we have Rolly. It’s not fair to either of us.”
“Dude. Did you see a white light when you got shot, or what?” Houston asks quietly.
I shake my head. “Or what. I know I’ve never been known for my seriousness, but it’s time I grew up. We’re forty-one and pushing forty-two. I can’t stay in that same place. I’m not that professional skater traveling from town to town and getting all the girls I could. I chose to leave that lifestyle behind when I signed on with you to run the shop ... but I kept the behaviors.”
“Dude, don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s not like you were a scum bag.”
I laugh. Leave it to Houston to say exactly what I need to hear. “I don’t know. I think there are a few women out there who’d disagree with that.”
He snickers. “You always let them know you weren’t down for anything serious. I couldn’t do it, but I admired you for it. Remember, I saw what others you were traveling with were like.”
I reflect on his words and nod. I would never lead a woman on. Not after seeing first-hand the pain that caused my mother. She always tried to hide the pain as best she could, but it was impossible. I watched the life eek out of her green eyes little by little, and heard the sobs and saw the puffy red eyes that came from the ocean of tears she shed when she thought she was alone. It tore me up. It also put me at odds with my father, and by extension, my brothers who seemed to think this matter should remain strictly between our parents. It always made them traitors in my eyes.
While my father was off managing the business, and doing God only knew what else, she raised us. She was the one who carted us to and from school, made our lunches, nurtured, bathed, and clothed us. She damn near drove herself ragged with all the activities Harry and Patrick had. From debate to soccer, baseball, and all the extracurricular activities Dad insisted they needed. I was a lost cause—the kid more interested in his skateboard then school. My grades weren’t bad. I graduated with a 3.5, but it wasn’t up to the standards of Gregory Hemnway.
My lips curl down at the thought of him. I haven’t seen him in over a year at the last awkward as hell family get together where we mutually ignored one another to keep the peace. I didn’t want to come, but I couldn’t let him run me away from my niece and nephew. Payton and Ashely were my heart until Rolly came along.
They never judged me or questioned why I didn’t wear suits and short hair. They embraced me ... tattoos, long hair, and all. It helped heal the relationship between me and my brothers, Patrick and Harry. Agreeing to disagree became a bridge we could build upon. They stopped trying to force a reconciliation between me and my father, and I stopped defaming him in front of them. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked.
“Yeah, that’s true.” I grab a black T-shirt off the sink and carefully pull it on over my head. My body jerks as the wound is tweaked.
“You all right, bro?”
I nod my head and breathe through the pain. “Kind of one big bruise when it comes to my chest, which is unfortunate because trust me, brother, you use it more than you know.”
“Dude, I can only imagine. I’m not one-hundred percent sure you should be on your own right now, to be honest.” He frowns.
I snarl at him, “Don’t start.”
“I see I’m not the only one trying to talk reason into you,” he replies dryly.
“You know how my mom is, always worrying about me. It’s been all I can do to keep her from setting up shop in my house and personally nursing me back to health. A gunshot takes a long time to heal. Six months to a year. Hell no. I’m not going back to living with my mother no matter how much I love her.”
He chuckles. “Might put a damper in some of your future plans.”
If I wasn’t healing, I know he’d be teasing me about my close bond with my mother.
“Other than the bandage changes, how are you really?”
“Sore, thinking too much, and wondering what my life is going to look like now.”
“You thinking of leaving the shop?”
“Naw, man, nothing that drastic. The bullet didn’t rattle loose my brains.”
“It’s called growing pains, bro. We all get them after an event makes our world open up and suddenly everything looks different. I had my first huge one when I found out Rain was pregnant after we started the shop. It got real quick.”
“What does that say about me as a father?” I mumble.
“Nothing, bro. You’re an awesome dad, believe me. I’d be here kicking your ass if you weren’t.”
I accept his words as truth, knowing he’d never lie. That’s one of the best things about having a friend pretty much from the cradle, the undeniable realness that exists between us.
We move out of the bathroom and into the living room.
“Everything good at home?” I ask, thinking of his chubby-cheeked son. Ryder is part Houston, part Liv, his wife, and all cuteness. The one and half year old is going to break hearts.
“Yeah, the usual Maloney chaos is happening, but Liv is so worried she almost booted me out the front door.”
“Aww, your wife loves me,” I say with a grin.
“Yes, though I don’t know why.”
“You jealous, bro?” I ask.
“Hell no, she’s got my last name and number two on the way.”
“Jesus. You going to move?” I tease.
“No, that’s why we started renovating. It’ll be done in plenty of time before the newest bundle comes. Liv is only ten weeks.”
“You planning on starting your own team?” I ask.
“Nah, she says this is the last call.”
“Yeah, I can’t blame her. Every time you knock her up it’s like a game of Russian roulette. I mean, you managed to get three your first time.”
“I know. Try not to mention that to her, though, huh? The hormones are back and kicking.”
“I don’t envy you. The mood swings are insane during those nine months.” I remember Allie and her swiftly swapping moods. One thing I do not miss about pregnancy.
“That’s an understatement. I’m just waiting for the cravings to kick in. Nothing like a late-night trip to some random location.” The smile on his face tells me he loves it. Or maybe it’s just Liv he adores so much. After all that they went through, they deserve this blissful existence.
“When are you letting the baby out of the bag?”
“Whenever she wants to. I defer to her. My family is all for it, hers is ... cautious. I get it. I’m a little older and came with three kids. But, shit, I’m not going anywhere. They should know that by now. As far as I’m concerned, they need to build a bridge and get over it.”
“Hold on to her, man. You lucked up,” I remark, thinking of their strong bond.
“Still can’t believe how much time I wasted not seeing what was in front of me.”
“No, I think you both needed time to heal. I mean, you’d both been betrayed in a horrific fashion. Some things need time to air out.” Watching him be left at the altar nearly gutted me. The man sobbed like a baby, and there was nothing I could do but lend him a shoulder to cry on.
“Are we talking about me or you?” he asks.
I shrug. “Maybe a bit of both.”
“I won’t push you, but I want to be sure I let you know I’m here. Anytime day or night, you can pick up that phone, and I’ll be there on the other end. You haven’t been yourself, and that worries me.” He clamps my shoulder gently.
My throat constricts, and I swallow. Me too.
“You know me. I’m like a cat. I always land on my feet. I need time to heal and get back to everyday life.”
Houston remains silent. I wonder if he b
elieves the lines I’m feeding him. He shouldn’t.
I PUSH THE MINIATURE grocery cart. I’m buying enough for a few days at a time—it’s about all I can manage without straining myself, and I don’t want to hinder my healing. Being forced to slow down has been an awakening. My time was divided between work, Rolly, and Allie, with a tiny sprinkling of family and friends. I can’t handle Rolly one-on-one, and Allie is still pissed, so I’m left with the harsh reality that my life isn’t as robust as I once thought.
After grabbing a half gallon of milk and shredded cheese, I move on from the dairy section, sending a chill down my spine. Houston comes by every other day to help with bandage changes and make sure I’m solid. He’s never said anything, but with him, everything is in the eyes. He can convey more with one look than some people can with ten minutes of talking.
I continue to add small items to the cart. It’s good to be out. The house is starting to close in around me, and the movies and television shows are blurring together into one never-ending and utterly ridiculous narrative. If I’m honest part of me has dreaded this trip. In public, I feel exposed. It’s like having an invisible target painted on my back. I’m not sure I’ll ever believe in blending in again. It gives a false sense of security.
If I’d been on my guard that night, things might’ve gone differently. I clench my hands around the cart handle. A man who can’t defend himself is useless. The robbers showed me how inadequate I am. I’m not sure how I’m going to reconcile that with myself, and I need to. Because the self-doubt is quicksand, swallowing me inch by inch. A ravenous darkness has begun to sink into my veins, and it’s headed through my blood stream toward my soul. It’s not a feeling I’m familiar with.
Rounding the corner, I catch sight of a tall figure swathed in head-to-toe in black. My hackles rise. I tense and the memories flood back. I can see the barrel of the gun pointing at me. The black metal gleams under the broken street light like some magical life taking weapon.
I never realized before that night the power and magic life and death held. My heart rate kicks up and I freeze, unable to move as I wait to see his face. What will I do if it’s him? Calling the police seemed too easy. Pounding his face in given my current health is unlikely. I’d collapse like a cheap lawn chair.