Can't Let You Go: A Wheeler Brothers Novel

by Allie Everhart

  My eyes remain on my laptop. I still feel mad at Bryce. I don't know why. Maybe because I'm searching for jobs in places I don't want to be because nothing is keeping me here in Chicago. Because stupid Bryce won't ask me to stay, or even just suggest that I do. Ever since I started searching for jobs, he's been encouraging me to leave Chicago, telling me if I don't leave now I never will, not even considering that I might want to stay.

  "You were in there a long time," I say. "Did they have a lot of questions?"

  "Not really, but I spent a lot of time explaining our process and telling them about some of the other jobs we've done."

  "So you think they'll hire you?"

  "I'm pretty sure they will. But they need to see an estimate before they decide."

  "Are you doing the estimate?"

  "Yeah. Why?"

  Bryce hates working with numbers, and an estimate will involve lots of numbers. I'm surprised he agreed to do it, but I'm glad he did. He needs to challenge himself so he'll stop thinking he's not smart enough.

  Before I can answer him, he says, "You think I can't do it?"

  "I know you can do it. I just didn't think you'd want to."

  "Might as well give it a try. Besides, I can't use my tats as an excuse for why I can't do an estimate." He smiles.

  I smile back. "No. You can't."

  "Jen." He pauses, and his eyes shift down to the floor. "I'm sorry if I was being an ass earlier. I just don't like being told shit about myself."

  "I know you don't. Nobody does. And maybe I shouldn't have said anything. I only did because I don't want you holding back and not doing things because you don't think you're good enough or smart enough."

  "You know academics aren't my thing. My brain's just not built that way."

  "Maybe not for things like algebra, but that doesn't mean anything. You're smart in other ways, like the way you can just figure stuff out on your own. Like how to rebuild an engine. I could never do that. Most people couldn't. That's why I get so frustrated when you act like you're not smart. Because you are, Bryce. You just won't let yourself believe it."

  He ignores the comment and points to my laptop. "So how's the job search coming?"

  "Not great. So far, I've found jobs in New York, Florida, and California."

  I notice his body tense up. "Oh, yeah? So you're applying for them?"

  "Might as well, but I'm sure I won't get them."

  "Now who's the one without confidence?"

  "Yeah, I know. Guess I should work on that. It's just that so many of my classmates have had internships at companies and I haven't. Managers don't want to hire someone with no experience."

  "So get an internship."

  "It's too late. They start when the semester starts or they go through the summer."

  "Then do one this summer, and then find a job."

  "You mean stay in Chicago?"

  He hesitates. "It doesn't have to be Chicago."

  "I don't want to move and then have to move again when I get a full-time job."

  He shrugs. "It was just a suggestion."

  "It's not a bad idea. I'll talk to my advisor about it."

  Did Bryce suggest the internship so that I wouldn't be leaving in two months? Or was he just making a comment? I wish he'd just come out and tell me what he thinks I should do. I'm not saying I'd do what he says, but he's my best friend and I trust his opinion more than anyone else's.

  My phone rings and Bryce picks it up. "It's your mom. You want to talk to her?"

  "Yeah." I set my laptop down and take the phone from him. "Hi, Mom."

  "Where are you?"

  "At Bryce's."

  "You're staying with him?"

  "Yeah. Why?"

  "I thought you were staying at Mitch's house."

  "He doesn't have room. Bryce's aunt and cousins are there for the week."

  "You shouldn't be staying there. Come home and stay with your mama."

  "Mom, I can't. You know the smoke bothers me."

  "Mitch smokes, and you stay at his house."

  "He doesn't smoke in the house."

  "Just come home. We'll open a window."

  "It's freezing out. We can't open a window. I'm just going to stay here."

  "Because you like Bryce better than me?"

  "No. Mom, you—"

  "You don't want to spend time with me." She coughs. "I'm not a well woman, Jen. I'm not going to live long."

  "You just turned 40. You're not going to die anytime soon."

  Bryce nudges me and mouths the words 'hang up'. He knows my mom's giving me the guilt trip. She always does this when she doesn't get what she wants.

  "Mom, I have to go."

  "But you're coming over tomorrow, right? With my groceries?"

  I look at Bryce. "Um, yeah. Probably in the afternoon."

  "Get me a carton of cigarettes while you're there."

  "I'm not getting you those. They cost too much. I don't have the money."

  "Then borrow it from Bryce. He has money."

  "I'm not taking his money. I'll get you the other stuff on the list but you'll have to get your own cigarettes. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

  "Call before you come over. Mark might stop over and...well, your mama might be gettin' busy." She laughs.

  I roll my eyes. "Yeah, I'll call first. Bye."

  I set the phone down, then close my eyes and take a deep breath. It's what I do to calm down, but it's not working right now because I'm so annoyed with my mom. She didn't call to see how I was, to make sure I was safe and warm and not stuck somewhere in the storm. She only called to see if I'd buy her cigarettes.

  I take another deep, calming breath, but again, it doesn't work. Then I feel Bryce's arm around my shoulder, his hand rubbing my arm. And that's what makes me start to relax.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Bryce

  Why the hell was Rita calling? Can't she give Jen just one day of peace? Jen's trying to relax this week but her mom just won't let her. She has to call and harass her and try to guilt her into buying her cigarettes.

  Now Jen's doing that deep breathing she always does to de-stress, but it's not working. Her foot is tapping, her face is tight, and her hands are fidgety.

  "Jen. Don't let her get to you." I know it's easier said than done, but Jen has got to learn to stop letting her mom have this effect on her.

  "I don't know why she has to be like this. Why can't she just be a mother instead of making me do it? It's like I have a 40-year-old child who can't take care of herself."

  I turn so I'm facing her. "Rita can take care of herself. But she won't if you keep doing it for her."

  "Bryce, I don't have a choice. When I leave her alone, she goes downhill. She drinks more. She smokes more. She stops eating. Did you see how thin she is?"

  "Your mom is skinny because she wants to be. She thinks it helps her get guys. It's not because she doesn't have food."

  "You don't know that. She could be not eating because she's depressed. Or maybe she's sick. Maybe she has lung cancer. She was coughing—"

  "Okay, stop. Do you hear yourself?"

  "What?"

  "All you're doing is making excuses for her. You've been doing it since you were a kid and you need to stop. Your mom is a conniving, manipulative bitch. And she's not going to change."

  "Don't call her that," Jen snaps. "And don't say those things about her. She does the best she can."

  I sigh. "Jen, she's using you. She always has. Why can't you see that?"

  She throws her hands up. "And why can't you see that you're just as smart as your brothers? Why do you act like you're not good enough? Why do you hide behind your tattoos?"

  "So you're going to put this back on me? So you don't have to talk about your mom?"

  "We never finished talking about you. Because you wouldn't let us. You shut down, like you always do when you don't want to talk about something. And I'm tired of it, Bryce. We're supposed to be best friends, so why can't we be honest with e
ach other?"

  "Because..." I shake my head. "I don't know. I guess because we're not honest with ourselves. What you said about me being afraid to try stuff I don't think I'll be good at? You were right. If I think I'll fail, I won't do it. So yeah, I admit I have things to work on, but so do you. You let your mom control you and it's only getting worse. When's it going to end, Jen? Are you just going to keep doing whatever she says? Buying her groceries and cigarettes? Giving her money whenever she asks?" I pause to let her answer, and when she doesn't I say, "It needs to end. I can't take seeing her continue to treat you this way."

  "It's none of your business. She's my mom, not yours. And if I want to take care of her I can." Tears slide down her cheeks. "She needs me, Bryce."

  "No, Jen." I reach for her hand but she tucks it under her arm. "She doesn't."

  "I can't talk to you right now." She gets up and runs to the bedroom and slams the door.

  Shit. How the hell did this happen? This morning, everything was perfect. I woke up with Jen in my bed, got that call from Mrs. Peterson, got an extra bonus from my dad, and was able to fix Jen's car. The day was going great and I was looking forward to spending the rest of it with Jen, watching movies, eating junk food, playing hockey. But now? She won't even talk to me.

  Maybe I shouldn't have confronted her like that about her mom, but shit, I've held back long enough. For years, I've said nothing and watched as Rita controlled and manipulated Jen. This can't keep going on. Even if Jen moves, Rita will still be calling her up, demanding money. Jen needs to finally stand up to her and tell her no.

  I knew Jen would get mad at me for saying those things, but she needed to hear it. Just like I needed to hear her tell me to push myself. To take risks. I hated hearing her say it. Telling me I lack confidence? God, that pissed me off, to the point that I couldn't even talk to her on the ride home. And then I had to go in the bedroom to calm down.

  Those phone calls I made for work? They only took ten minutes, not an hour, like I told Jen. The rest of the time I spent thinking about what she said. And the truth is, she's right. I have no doubts about myself when it comes to construction. Like my dad said, I'm better at building things than any of my brothers. But I don't want to just be a construction worker for the rest of my life. I want to help run the business. I want to work with my brothers, not for them. But in order to do that, I need to step up and take on more responsibility. Be the lead on jobs. Follow up on referrals. Get new customers. Yeah, it scares the shit out of me to do those things but I still need to do them. I was nervous when I made those calls today but it ended up going fine. Better than fine. In fact, both ladies said they looked forward to working with me, so I'm confident we'll get the jobs.

  I need to go talk to Jen, but first I have to give her some time alone. When she's upset, she needs her space. I'll give her a half hour and then I'll go in there.

  Jen and I have had fights before, but we always talk it out and get past it. We can't stay mad at each other for very long. If we did, who would we talk to? Yeah, we have other friends, and I have my brothers, but when we really need someone to talk to, we go to each other.

  Fifteen minutes later, I decide to go talk to her. I couldn't wait the full half hour. She was crying, and seeing her cry kills me. I have to be with her. Comfort her. Make her feel better.

  "Jen?" I knock on the door. "I'm coming in."

  She doesn't respond so I open the door. She's in bed, under the covers. She put one of my sweatshirts on. She used to do that back in high school when her mom was stressing her out or when she was nervous about a test. She said my sweatshirt helped her relax. So she'd take one when she'd come over to my house, then bring it back a week later and get another one. She'd never take a clean one. Only one that I'd worn. When I asked her why, she said it was because the ones I'd worn smelled like me and made her feel like I was near her. So when the scent wore off, she'd give it back and get a different one. It was one of those things that told me she loved me. That we were more than friends.

  "Are you okay?" I lie on the bed next to her but don't get under the covers.

  "Yeah." She turns to me, still looking sad.

  "I'm sorry." I brush the hair off her forehead. "I didn't mean to—"

  "Don't apologize. I want you to be honest with me, and you were. I know you don't like my mom, and sometimes I don't like her either. But she's still my mom and I care about her and what happens to her."

  "I know you do. But it needs to work both ways. She has to care about you too and...well, sometimes I'm not so sure that she does."

  She looks at me, her eyes tearing up. "You don't think my mom cares about me?"

  Truthfully? My answer is no, but I don't think I should tell Jen that. Even if I did, she wouldn't believe me. She needs to figure that out for herself.

  "I just want you to see her for who she is. Jen, you know she cons people. She does it all the time. She even does it to you. She showed up at your work pretending to be drunk, then made up that story about some guy hitting her. All so that you'd think she needs you. So you wouldn't leave."

  "I'm worried about leaving her. If I move away, who will take care of her?"

  "I'll still be here. If she needs something, she knows she can call me."

  "But you hate her. You're not going to help her."

  "If she actually needs help, and she's not faking it, then I promise I'll help her."

  "You will?" She sniffles.

  "Yes." But I wouldn't be doing it for Rita. I'd be doing it for Jen.

  She sniffles again. "That makes me feel better."

  "Good. So you want to do something fun now? Maybe watch a movie?"

  "Okay. But can we watch in here? I'm all warm and cozy in your bed. I don't want to get up."

  "You really like my bed, don't you?" I smile.

  "It's so much better than mine. I'm going to be sad when they finally fix my heat and I have to go home."

  I'm going to be sad too. I like having her here.

  I find the remote and hand it to her. "Pick whatever you want."

  She yanks the covers back. "Get in with me." I start to get in but then she says, "Wait. Change out of your jeans. Jeans are scratchy. No good for snuggling. Get sweatpants."

  I laugh. "We're snuggling?"

  "Yes. I've decided that's a better term than sprawling. So from now on, I don't sprawl. I snuggle."

  Snuggling is for couples and we're not a couple, but I go along with it anyway.

  While she finds a movie, I change into a pair of basketball shorts, knowing I'll be burning up with Jen on me and the heat cranked up.

  "This is so much better than my typical Monday," she says. "Normally I'd be at class right now and then I'd have to go to work."

  I'm now lying in bed beside Jen, keeping enough distance so that we're not touching.

  "I don't have a typical Monday," I say. "Each one is different depending on the job. That's why I like construction. You're always doing something different. I could never sit at a desk all day."

  "I'm not sure if I can either."

  I chuckle. "And yet you're planning to get an office job."

  "I'm sure I'll be fine once I'm in the job." She's still searching for a movie.

  "Jen, would you just pick one?"

  "I can't decide. What are you in the mood for? Comedy or drama?"

  "We've had enough drama today. Let's go for comedy."

  "How about Ghostbusters?" She highlights it on the screen.

  "That's a Halloween movie. And it's old. Why don't we watch something more recent?"

  "You said I could pick. And you know I like old movies better than new ones."

  "Then I guess we'll watch Ghostbusters." I put my arm behind my head, propping it up to better see the TV. It's a 40-inch flat-screen I bought a few months ago with one of my bonus checks.

  Jen gets the movie started, and when the theme song starts, she sits up and dances to the music, her arms flying in the air while she sings to the lyrics. She'
d never do that in front of some other guy. She wouldn't even do this in front of my brothers. She'd be too embarrassed. But she doesn't get embarrassed doing stuff like this around me. We've been friends for too long. We've seen each other at our best and worst, and been together through both good times and bad.

  The worst was when my mom died. Jen never left my side. We watched a lot of movies back then because I didn't feel like talking. And one day, she did what she's doing right now. Some song came on during the movie and she got up and started dancing, and not good dancing, but ridiculous dancing. She did it to make me laugh because I wasn't laughing much back then. Her trick worked, and even though I was still sad about my mom, it felt good to laugh, even for just a couple minutes.

  "Hey." I pull on her arm. "Enough dancing. I can't see the movie."

  She laughs and falls back on the bed. "I thought you liked my dancing."

  "To real music, yeah. But your dancing to movie theme songs could use some work."

  "You're mean." She smiles.

  "You told me to be honest. So don't even ask me about your singing."

  She huffs and hits my shoulder. "Okay, just for that, I'm not snuggling with you." She turns her back to me.

  "Then I'll snuggle with you." I turn on my side and capture her in my arms as she tries to scoot away. And that's when I notice she's not wearing pants. Shit.

  My sweatshirt is so big on her it covers her ass, but her legs are bare, and I feel them, smooth and soft, tangling with mine, as her ass presses into my crotch. I swear she's trying to kill me. My heart's beating out of my chest as I try to control the intense urge to finally cross that line. To take her, right here, right now, and finally give in to what we both so desperately want. And need. Fuck. I need this so bad. I need to be with her. I love her, and I need to be with her, to make love to her, even if it's just once.

  But I somehow force myself to not give in to my urges and instead, hold her against me, my arm wrapped around her middle. We end up staying that way, not even watching the TV, and eventually fall asleep.

  We wake up a couple hours later to a loud commercial. I reach over for the remote and turn the TV off.