by Jay McLean
I narrow my eyes at him. “You want to get it all out now because—”
“Fucking shit of an asshole motherfucking whore bastard son of a toe fucking titty whore!” He releases a breath, his eyes drifting shut. “So much better. Carry on.”
Ten minutes later, he’s fallen asleep in his chair, his glass of whiskey loose in his hand on the armrest. With his mouth open and his head tilted back, he snores quietly.
I smirk.
“Oh shit,” Logan whispers.
I pull out the Ziploc bag from my pocket—the one containing a tampon that’s been soaking in ketchup and tuna brine since I left the house.
“That’s fucking disgusting,” Jake says.
“You haven’t even smelled it yet.”
As silent as possible, the three of us get up and surround him. I open the bag, suppressing my chuckle when I see the guys cringe—their reaction to the smell. So fucking perfect.
I motion for them to hold down Cam’s hand the second I drop it in his mouth and, because they know me and know me well, they both nod, ready.
I suck in a breath, hold it, then lift the tampon an inch above his mouth. Then I drop it.
“WHAFFUGGGG!” Cam screams, his eyes snapping open. He tries to move but his hands are held down and he subconsciously closes his mouth. Then gags, coughs and splutters until he spits it out. His legs are kicking wildly, trying to get me, and I can tell the boys’ grip is weakening because they’re laughing too hard. I hold my stance, my legs apart, my arms crossed. Then he looks down at what he’d just spat out. “Fuck you!” he shouts, legs kicking, arms attempting to get free. “What the fuck is that?”
Logan’s lost it so much he can’t hold him down. He drops to the floor, his hand wiping the tears from his eyes. Cam gets free, his arm raised.
I throw a hand up between us. “What’s the third rule of mayhem?” I laugh out.
“Fuck you.”
“No violence,” Jake answers for him. “Mayhem is the only form of retaliation.”
Cam stops in his tracks, his breaths harsh as they leave him. “You’re going to pay, Banks.”
“I’ll be waiting, Gordon.”
My third plan didn’t really need any planning, but it does take a day or so to take shape. It’s weak, I know. And to be honest, I didn’t have the heart to do it myself. Jake’s good people. Always has been. Didn’t stop me from asking Cam to help me out. He was all for it. Besides, pink eye for days—totally worth it.
I settle into bed, prepared to sleep with one eye open. I expect nothing less of my friends than retaliation. I grab my phone to send Ry a good night message, but there’s already one there.
Riley: I love you. I miss you. Come home to me, okay?
I smile, remembering how all her letters to me started. Letters she doesn’t know I’ve read.
Dylan: You are my home, Ry.
I go to switch off the phone but notice the Skype notification. Riley had downloaded and set it up for me when I came home on R&R. We’ve only ever used it when I was deployed. My eyes narrow as I click the icon, then widen when I see Dave’s name. There’s a bunch of images he’s sent through along with a message.
Hey man. It’s Mike. I just turned on Davey’s phone and saw that he never sent these to you. Thought you’d like it.
I click on the first image—a screen shot of a Skype conversation Dave had with Riley.
Dave: Hey beautiful.
Riley: How are you single, Dave?
Dave: Ikr. What girl doesn’t love a strawberry blonde, scrawny kid with freckles and my mouth.
Riley: Lol. How’s our boy doing?
Dave: We just had two units come in with their vehicles so he’s out working. Poor bastard’s out there earning his keep while I get to talk to his girl.
Riley: haha. Lucky me.
Dave: So what’s going on?
I move to the next image, my heart racing, eager for more.
Riley: Not much. Had car trouble on the way home from work.
Dave: Wtf? Didn’t D build you that car?
Riley: lol. Yes.
Dave: Ry. That dude is in charge of military transportation and you’re telling me he couldn’t fucking build you that piece of shit Honda engine?
Riley: Bahaha! No. It was my fault. Nothing to do with his work. Don’t worry.
Dave: So what was it?
Riley: Oil.
Dave: Doesn’t his dad work on your car?
I quickly move to the next image, wondering how much they spoke and how he knew all this.
Riley: Yeah. The check oil light was on… for I don’t know how long… but I have a picture of D on my dash and it was blocking it so…
Dave: Oh man. He’d be pissed if I told him. Especially since you were probably alone, at night, stranded.
Riley: I called Mal right away and he was there within fifteen minutes. He made me sit in the car and lock all the doors until he got there. He was so mad at me. Lol. You know how D gets… that silent type mad.
Dave: Oh, I know the one.
Riley: Swear he looked so much like Dylan.
Dave: lol.
Riley: So yeah… goes without saying this stays between us.
Dave: Hand on my heart. Speaking of secrets…
Riley: :) I sent them one last Friday.
Dave: You are way too good to me.
Riley: You know I enjoy it.
Dave: Sure.
Riley: I do! I like going to the store and finding stuff to send your family. I had to send two boxes this time. I got Ricky this Minions doll but it was too big so he gets his own box.
Dave: He’d love that, Ry. Seriously. It’s not often that kid gets something of his own. He’s always had hand me downs.
Riley: That makes me so happy.
Dave: Swear, you just got me smiling so big.
Riley: Why not say it’s from you then?
Dave: Because it’s not from me. It’s from…?
Riley: I signed the family one as Rosie and Ricky’s one as Vanessa.
Dave: Nice!
Riley: I’m running out of different handwriting though. Hopefully they don’t keep the letters.
Dave: Nah. Ma would keep them all.
Riley: I still don’t get it, Dave. Why the different names and why from girls?
Dave: Keeps the dream alive.
Riley: How so?
Dave: My ma—she always worries about me. Not so much out here but more when I get home.
Riley: ?
Dave: I guess she worries about how I’ll be when I get back, you know? I mean mentally. She’s always going on about how I should find a girl to take care of me. And since the perfect one is taken, I have to make them up.
Riley: She worries about that?
Dave: Don’t you? About Dylan. Not me.
Riley: I try not to.
Dave: That’s good, Ry. You keep the dream alive too. Besides, he has you to take care of him when he gets back.
Riley: I hope I’m enough.
Dave: Seriously, Ry?
Riley: What?
Dave: When I mentioned the perfect girl was taken, I was talking about you.
Riley: Shut up.
Dave: You take care of him, okay? Promise me.
Riley: You goof. I promise.
Dave: Sleep well, Ry. It’s been real nice talking to you.
Riley: Until next time?
I scroll down, my fingers as frantic as my heart while I look for the next image. There isn’t one. I go back to the last and look for the date they spoke.
My breath catches.
My heart stops.
He planned it all.
He fucking knew.
He knew he was going to die that night.
And he knew what losing him would do to me.
Fifty-Nine
Dylan
“Dude, you need me to drive?” Cam asks from the front passenger seat on the way home. “Why do you keep rubbing your eye?”
Jake pulls over on the si
de of the road. “It’s fucking itchy as fuck.” Then it dawns on him. “You fucking assholes! I have a reporter coming to the house tomorrow!”
He goes to punch Cam but Logan stops him. “No violence!”
Chuckling, I look out the window while Cam and Jake swap seats, wondering why it is there hasn’t been any retaliation yet. Especially on me.
Fuck. I’m never going to sleep.
“Yo, Amanda just messaged me. She said to pick the girls up from your house, D,” Logan says.
“Well, yeah. They stayed there last night didn’t they?”
“No, I mean at your house.”
“What are they doing there?” I ask.
Cam chuckles as he turns to me. “Mayhem, motherfucker.”
Shit.
There’s no sign of glitter from outside the house, which I guess is a good thing. And there’s no loud High School Musical soundtrack blasting, either. Without the help of the boys, the girls aren’t that creative. But then again, I did fuck the boys over. Individually, too. And that causes three times the panic that’s currently flowing through me.
I stop a few feet away from the garage door leading to the yard, hoping that one of them will go through first. They don’t. In fact, they stand behind me, arms crossed, legs spread, all scowling. “It’s bad isn’t it?” I ask.
Jake rubs his eye. “Fuck yeah, it is.”
I huff out a breath, reach for the bike helmet hanging on the wall and put it on.
“That’s not going to help you in this situation,” Cameron says.
“How fucking bad is it?”
“Remember that time you tried to staple my nostrils shut? Think that. Only a thousand times worse.”
“You sweating, Banks?” Logan asks.
I puff out my chest “No.” Then I wipe the sweat off my brow.
“He’s sweating, all right,” Jake mumbles.
After a few deep breaths, I gain the courage I need to turn the knob and slowly push open the door. I walk out quickly; in case something falls from the roof. Nothing does. In fact, nothing happens at all. Or, maybe it’s because my eyes are closed.
I ball my fists and open one eye first, then the other.
There’s a sea of red, white and blue and a bunch of faceless other people who I’m sure I know but right now all I see, all I feel, is Riley standing in front of me. She’s wearing red shorts, a plane white shirt under one of my blue flannel ones. She looks just like the picture I’d carried with me everywhere when I was deployed—the one I’d pull out when I needed a reminder of the reason I was there. Her hands are clasped together in front of her and she’s smiling. “Happy homecoming, baby.”
I take the stupid helmet off and cover the distance between us. “What?”
She lets me take both her hands before shrugging. “We never got a chance to celebrate you coming home… so…” She steps to the side, revealing everyone else.
My family, hers, the girls and all their parents.
“We didn’t have much time to plan…” Riley tells me.
I switch my gaze back to her. “When did you—”
“This morning.”
I reach up, my hands on her neck and my thumb stroking her cheek. “I love you, you know that?”
She smiles. “You better, Banks.”
And then I kiss her, maybe a little too inappropriate considering Holly groans, “Gross,” and Lachlan, Lucy’s little brother shouts, “That’s yuck!” but I don’t care.
A half hour later, I’ve greeted everyone here. Bryce, Heidi’s boyfriend, Jake’s mom, Cam’s parents, Lucy’s dad and a couple of her brothers and Logan’s dad… who can’t seem to take his eyes off Riley’s mom.
I take a seat on the lawn chair next to him. “Dr. Matthews.”
“Dylan.” He nods, his eyes still on Holly. “It’s good to have you home, Son.”
“Thank you, Sir.” I pause a beat, watching his reaction. “You see something you like?”
His eyes snap to mine. “Excuse me?”
Logan walks up, interrupting us. “He causing you any problems, Pops?” he asks, taking a seat on the other side of him.
“You want me to introduce you?” I ask, ignoring Logan.
Dr. Matthews eyes go wide and he sits up higher. “No!”
I smile.
“Introduce who?” Logan says, looking around.
“Riley’s mom.”
Logan nudges him. “Dad, you crushing on Ms. Hudson?” he says loud enough for Holly to hear. She faces us, ignoring the conversation she’s currently having with Jake’s mom. With narrowed eyes, she mouths, “Me?”
I nod and wave her over.
“Oh my God, why is she coming here?” Dr. Matthews mumbles, wiping his palms on his pants.
“Are you nervous?” Logan asks, eyeing his dad with amusement. “Holy shit, I’ve never seen you like this!”
We all stand when Holly closes the distance. “Did you say my name?” she asks me.
“Hey Holly, have you met Dr. Alan Matthews?”
She smiles and throws her hand out between them. “Doctor?”
I pat Alan’s shoulder. “Have fun, kids.”
“No!” he shouts.
Logan cackles. “Go easy on him, Ms. Hudson,” he says, and we both walk away.
Logan runs to Amanda, no doubt to spy, and I walk over to Mr. Preston, Lucy’s dad, sitting around one of the tables with a couple of his sons, Cam and Lucy. I’d planned to go see him since I got out of the cast, but never had the time. He stands when I get to him. “Good to see you, Dylan!” he says, his handshake strong and his pat on my arm even stronger.
“Thank you, Sir. You too. Thanks for coming out.”
“Ah, Lucy called this morning, told me what it was about—mentioned free food—so here I am.”
I chuckle under my breath. “So I’d been meaning to come by and have a chat with you but…”
He tilts his head. “What’s up?”
“You got any jobs going?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You want to work construction?”
“I’ll work anywhere, Sir. My leg’s good. My shoulder’s good. I don’t have any real experience in construction but I’m good with my hands—”
“So hot,” Lucy cuts in.
“I’m right here!” Cam yells.
Lucy laughs and takes his hand, kissing it gently. “I love you the mostest, baby.”
“Shut up.”
“Anyway…” I say while Mr. Preston shakes his head at them. “I’m back now and—” I point to Riley, “—I got a girl to take care of, you know? I understand if you don’t have anything going at the moment but I’d appreciate it if you kept me in mind if anything does come up—”
“You come see me on site Monday. 7 a.m. Cameron will give you the location.”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
“Of course!”
I shake his hand again. “Thank you, Sir. This means so much.” I look over at Riley again, sitting with Dad and laughing at whatever he’s telling her.
“Did your old man play football back in the day?” Mr. Preston asks.
I nod. “High school. Wide receiver for West High.”
“I thought he looked familiar. I probably tackled him a few times.”
“Oh yeah?” I smile, looking back at him. “He probably remembers it too, Sir. He’s not the forgiving type.”
“Watch the boys,” Mr. Preston says over his shoulder. “Malvin Banks,” he says, the name rolling off his tongue. “He was a hero back in the day.”
“He’s still my hero today, Sir.”
Five minutes later, they’re recalling their high school game days like it happened yesterday.
Riley takes my hand and walks us over to Eric while Sydney unfolds a napkin and hangs it off his collar.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask him.
He stuffs half a burger in his mouth. Sydney lifts the napkin revealing a streak of ketchup on his shirt.
Riley laughs.
“He’s such a kid,” Sydney says.
“Who’s that talking to Dad?” Eric asks, his mouth full.
“Lucy’s Dad. Apparently they played football against each other.”
Eric swallows. “Naw. Our old man’s making friends. They grow up so fast!”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Mandy—Jake’s mom—says, stopping in front of us. “I have to pick up Julie from her date—”
“I’ll pick ’em up,” Jake says, one arm around his mom’s shoulders.
“No you won’t, Jacob,” Mandy snaps. “She told me you threatened her boyfriend’s kneecaps with a baseball bat.”
Jake lifts his chin. “Did not.” He totally did.
Mandy rolls her eyes. “Dylan, I’m sorry to bother you with this but my car’s making this noise…”
I stand. “What kind of noise?”
“This um…” Her face scrunches. “Cluck cluck cluck.”
Jake stifles his laugh. “How’s that go again, Ma?”
“Cluck cluck cluck.”
I suppress my smile. “One more time?”
“Cluck cluck cluck.”
I nod slowly and rock on my heels. “Well, that’s your problem, Ma’am. Your car’s a chicken.”
Mandy’s car is an easy fix. I tell her I’ll order the parts and drop by to replace it. By the time I get back in the yard, furniture has been rearranged and there’s a cake on a table and a single chair behind it. “It’s not my birthday,” I tell Riley, coming up behind her.
She spins to me, her palms flat on my chest when she says, “There’s no celebration without a cake.”
She guides me to sit in front of what could possibly be known as the ugliest cake in the entire world. “This is um… nice,” I tell her.
She giggles. “Lucy made it. Isn’t it lovely?”
I look at Lucy and nod. “Thanks, Luce.” Then I eye Cameron. I get it now. His eyes widen as he returns my nod. I fucking told you. Lucy’s little brothers look at me, their eyes bigger than Cam’s. Don’t fucking do it.
“Where are the candles?” Riley asks.
“For what?”
She smiles. “Don’t you want to make a wish?”
I shrug. “I guess.”