Steel Country Boxset

by Fields, MJ

  “Julie, cash,” he says as he looks at me.

  Ten minutes later, we are pulling up in front of a motel on the beach. I am scared, so scared.

  “This okay?” he asks.

  What does he want me to say? I know what’s expected, so does it really matter where it happens?

  I shrug, then start to open the door, when he grabs my wrist,

  “It’s not the nicest, Juliana, but it’s no shithole. I don’t know how much cash I have, but it should be enough for a week here, and enough for cab money to school. I’m not gonna be able to be here every day.”

  “It’s fine.” I pull away, stepping out with my hands full of Taco Bell bags.

  “Wait,” he says, stopping me.

  I turn and look at him.

  “You gotta get the room in your name.” He hands me the cash and looks at me.

  “Fine.”

  He goes in with me where a sleazy looking old man with a bad combover looks us both up and down.

  “I need a room for a week,” I tell him after clearing my throat. I start to raise my hand with the cash when Garrett holds it still.

  “One ten a night for beach front,” the old man says, as if it’s some sort of dare.

  “What’s that a week?” I ask, trying again to pull up my hand with the cash in it.

  “Close to a grand with tax,” he answers, sitting down.

  “What about cash?” Garrett asks.

  “Same.”

  “Bullshit. Come on; let’s go,” Garrett says, pulling me toward the door.

  “Eight hundred,” the old man calls to our backs.

  “Try again; it’s off season.”

  “Six hundred,” he says, and Garrett looks back.

  “With tax and one of the nicer rooms, or we head down the street.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass, kid,” he grumbles. “Fine.”

  When I hand him my birth certificate, he looks at me oddly. “Just carry that type of thing around?” He looks at it closer. “You just turned seventeen yesterday. Gotta be eighteen.”

  “Let’s go, Juliana,” Garrett snarls.

  “No, it’s fine. No bullshit, you two. My ass is on the line,” the old man says as he jots down my information, including my address, and hands me the keys. “I’m keeping this birth certificate. You bail, mess up my place, cause a stink, it’s mine.”

  I almost don’t let go. It’s mine. It’s mine and I have held on to it since I was six, when I got it in a giftbox wrapped up prettily for Christmas. It’s stupid now, but it was magical then, and it’s still one of the few fond memories I have.

  My question for a month to my mother while living in one of the dozen shelters we had lived in was who is my father. She always said she didn’t know. Surely, I had one. Everyone did. But everyone’s were mean, and that’s why they all lived in places like this.

  That Christmas, I was given a box, my one gift from my mother. Wrapped around the paper were several headbands.

  “One for every day of the week.” Mom beamed.

  I was so excited. So excited my hair would be adorned with pretty things like the rest of the girls.

  She smiled. “Open your gift, Juliana.”

  Careful not to rip the paper, I opened it. Inside was a document, my birth certificate.

  She whispered, “You have to promise to keep this a secret.”

  “Our secret?” I whispered back to her.

  She pointed to the section my father’s name should be. It said unknown.

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t understand.

  “Your father is Santa Claus,” she whispered.

  I had never felt more special in my life.

  “Juliana, let’s go,” Garrett says, tugging on my arm and bringing me back to the present.

  I have a feeling that I will never see it again.

  Room twenty-five is nice, really nice. There is a small kitchenette, a huge and clean bathroom, and the view is beautiful.

  I look back at Garrett, who has my backpack and a worried look on his face. Worried is not a look I am used to seeing on a man.

  “What?” I ask.

  “We need to eat, then go get you some shit.”

  “Shit?”

  “Clothes, hair stuff.” He dumps my bag out on the bed, and I am horrified when the tampons I had to steal from the store this afternoon spill out.

  He looks up at me, shocked.

  “I don’t have sex; just blowjobs. Anal if I have to,” I say it like it’s no big deal, but it is. It is because he...he wasn’t supposed to be like all the others. “So, a period shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “You do that shit for money?” he asks, not in disgust, but maybe...curiosity?

  “I do that shit because it’s what I have to do. I do it because that’s who I am. I do it because if I don’t...” I pause.

  He shakes his head. “Not with me you don’t.”

  “Then what do you want?” I ask, feeling my lip tremble.

  “I don’t know.” He starts to pace. “I don’t know. You don’t have to do that shit.”

  “Why do you care?”

  The question catches him off guard, and he looks at me in anger. “I don’t.”

  “Good,” I say defensively. “Because you aren’t my type.”

  His laugh is abrupt and maniacal.

  “Laugh it up, drug dealer,” I snap at him.

  His laugh stops. “I don’t sell fucking drugs.”

  “Right,” I say, looking away from him.

  “I don’t! I just need shit to sleep sometimes, so back off.”

  To this, I laugh at him.

  He shakes his head. “Take a fucking shower; you look like shit. I’ll be back.”

  “Don’t bother,” I snap at him.

  Now he’s pissed, really pissed.

  “I fucking paid for you. Take a goddammed shower and answer the fucking door when I get back.”

  Chapter Six

  Reality’s Foul

  (Present Day)

  Garrett

  I didn’t sleep for shit. I dug through drawers to see his clothes and looked on shelves to see which books he prefers, the things he likes.

  I know, like me and Gage, he likes baseball. Another thing I get a sense he likes is horses. Lots of books on them, lots of pictures, and little figures. He also likes fishing, which is cool, but I wonder if he’s ever been fly fishing or smelting. I prefer both over just sitting and fishing off a dock.

  Neither were learned here, or by family. They were all picked up over my five years of wandering from place to place. I love it out west and middle America. I love animals and nature, wide open spaces where trees and rolling grass are seen for miles, and people are scarce.

  I worked on a ranch in Montana for nearly eight months. Bullshitted my way into that job, kind of. The old rancher thought I was a natural with horses, and I was, but it wasn’t something I was aware of until it happened.

  Spent a solid two months pitching shit, tossing hay, and mowing fields. Brainless work that tired me out so I could get at least a couple hours sleep. It also gave me a sense that I accomplished something.

  I hated barns, hated them because that’s where...everything happened. I faced that childhood fear, though. Hell, I immersed myself in it. Thought it would give me those fucking dreams, but it didn’t.

  No, my nightmares were now of a monster of my own making. Her face, my pain, my guilt, and then my rage and anger. The morning I watched her walk out of a fucking bedroom with my brother, who once again came to rescue a weak and pathetic...boy. Me.

  I was so fucking sure he had told her about my past, and I was so fucking sure that was why he had decided to take her, make her his wife, and fucking raise my kid. So, I ran.

  I ran for almost six years, and I was fine. Had my moments, like this last fucking stretch. Left a ranch in California for the same reason I left all the others. Women got really fucking needy once a dick like mine is inside them.

  Apparent
ly, I’m not only hung, but the fact that I fuck hard leaves a lasting impression. Crazy asses think it’s to impress them. It’s not. It’s to release the rage in a different way than with my fists.

  I fucked. I fucked hard and controlled every fucking movement.

  She controlled my first time, and I was damn sure that was why I thought I loved her. I don’t love her. I despise her. I stay away because of her and her fucking choices. I stay away...for her.

  Fuck, I think as I run my hand through my hair. Now I’m going to have to face her.

  She’s no different than the others now, I tell myself. They all end up asking for the same thing. But unlike my time with her, I don’t stick around to see them fuck me over. As soon as they say that shit, “Make love to me, Granger,” I’m out.

  Yeah, Granger was the name I used so my family couldn’t find me. I checked in when I knew I was moving on to the next place because...women.

  Make love to me? Did that with one woman. Thought I could trust her. Then I knew better. The hell if I would do it again with another.

  I look at the clock, seeing it’s five in the morning. I decide to try my best to get a couple hours of sleep, without assistance from a pussy to pound, an ass to tear up, or a pill to swallow.

  I close my eyes, and because she’s on my mind, I see her clear as day. The memories and exhaustion lull me to sleep.

  Six Years Ago…

  I watch her as she sleeps in those cat pajamas. Her hair is damp from a shower. I can smell the soap I bought her. When it ran out, I tried to buy something a little nicer, more expensive, but she insisted on the Suave strawberry scented stuff. Truth be told, I like it. It’s sweet, like her.

  The night shirt is hiked up and the blankets are a little low, showing me the curve of her ass. She has a great ass.

  My fists clench and my jaw tightens at thinking about what she’s gone through. The things she had to do to survive. The amount of people who should have stepped in when they saw a girl, a girl who gets straight A’s, yet falls asleep at her desk in school. A girl who any idiot could see was beautiful and wanted to be different, better. Wanted to be cleaner. Wanted to smile. Sure as fuck didn’t want to be bullied by fucking assholes at school, just to go home to a place where she was given as a fucking add-on for a purchase of drugs to make assholes come back for more.

  My stomach turns when I think about how it all went down; her first time being forced into it. Some dirt bag who was fucked up went in the wrong room. She begged him not to take her virginity, so he fucked her...in a different way. The stepfather actually walked in her room and told her to be quiet. It was shrugged off and became an expectation. I hate that for her. I hate it for all of us. I hate those fuckers who are dead and deserved to die for allowing it.

  For two months, I have been with her, all the damn time. I want to be with her more, but I don’t want her in my world, either. I want her like she is—finally free. I like watching her try to figure out what she wants to do after graduation, and I often remind her the possibilities are endless. And they are. No one giving her advice, expectations, near demands. She is free, totally free.

  When she isn’t talking a mile a minute, she is lying in my arms, watching TV. Her being that close makes me hard. Every time she’s told me she wants to take care of me, she wants to because I take care of her. I tell her I’m good, all set. When she tries to kiss me, I turn and give her my cheek.

  Last night, she looked almost hurt. Honestly, it kind of pissed me off. I’m the one hurting, and I’m doing it for her. I want her to know I’m not like them. I’m not here because I expect to get a blowjob, and I will never fuck her in the ass. Never.

  That’s why I told her I wasn’t sure I could get out tonight. Didn’t want to go home with my balls aching and my heart hurting because I made her smile a little less. Wasn’t a complete lie, either.

  Dad is in town. We had to do the family dinner thing. It was more difficult with him home, but not impossible. I’m not sure anything could keep me away from her.

  She rolls over and inhales deeply. A smile starts to form on her beautiful face before she opens her eyes and allows that smile to take over. Jesus, she has an amazing smile. She hadn’t been to the dentist once, yet her teeth were beautiful.

  She moves over and pats the side of the bed. I kick my shoes off, climb into the bed, and lie back. Then she rolls to her side and puts her head on my chest, saying nothing. I wrap my arm around her and pull her a little closer, though there isn’t much space between us, never is.

  “Garrett?” she whispers.

  “Yeah?” I whisper back.

  “You can tell me if you think I’m ugly, or”—I start to talk, but she covers my mouth—”if you have a girlfriend. Or maybe it’s that I just...I don’t know, the thought of me makes you sick? You can tell me the truth about why you don’t want me. I don’t care. I’ll be like this with you forever, but can you please just tell me why?”

  “Jesus, Juliana,” I say after pulling her hand away from my mouth as I sit up.

  She pulls her knees to her chest, buries her head in her knees, and gives me a view that makes me fucking instantly hard. No underpants.

  “God damn you,” I grumble, pushing myself off the bed.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t expect someone like you—”

  That pisses me off. “Fucking look at me!”

  When she does, I wave my hand over my track pants. “Do you think I don’t want you, Juliana? Do you think that every fucking time I lay next to you, I don’t want to taste your lips, those beautiful ruby red lips? Do you think when I hold you, I don’t want my hands to roam all over that ass, those tits? Do you think I don’t want to touch you more?”

  “I don’t know!” she cries. “I don’t!”

  “I don’t have a fucking girlfriend. Never have. I think you’re the most beautiful girl I have ever met! You don’t make me sick, Juliana. You make me like this. Hard...all the damn time.”

  “Then why? Why won’t you touch me?”

  “Because you’re more than that. I want you more than that.”

  “Well, I want you more than that, too. I want you to be my first,” she says, hiding her face again. “I know my past doesn’t scream virgin, and it may sound silly saying it, but Garrett, I am, dammit. I am and I want you. I want the boy I can’t stand being away from. The boy I love to—”

  “You what?” I ask, feeling a little choked up.

  She looks at me. “I dreamed of better. I did. But I never thought in a million years that I’d get the best. Clearly, I can’t have you, but you...you, Garrett, are the best person I know.”

  She doesn’t know me, not the fucked up me. She knows the me I want to be, but fuck if I can tell her no.

  “You want me. You want me half as bad as I want you, come and take it. But I’m not the best person, Juliana. I’m far from—”

  She jumps off the bed, and I catch her. Then she takes my face in her hands as she wraps her legs around me. “I’ve never been kissed.”

  My mind races, trying to figure out how to do it perfectly. I want it to be perfect for her.

  My body trembles when I feel my dick pushing against her.

  “I’m gonna kiss you the way the girl I’m falling for deserves to be kissed, Juliana,” I whisper as I lean in then kiss her.

  Chapter Seven

  Facing Hell

  (Present day)

  Juliana

  Telling Gail what happened at the bar with Gage, her expression never changed. It never did. She told me she was going to Falcon’s Landing and that I should prepare myself for what was to come.

  The storm.

  The storm came. For two days, Brandon and I watched from the hotel window as the clouds rolled by, the lightning lighting up the sky, and the thunder, loud and angry sounding, consuming everything. When we lost power, he snuggled a little closer, and I soaked up every bit I could. I held him tight, hoping to give him comfort and gaining it in return.


  We read cowboy stories, watched movies until well past nine, and fortunately for me, the excuse I gave him for not wanting him to call Gage was a half-truth. Cell service was in and out because of the storm.

  We played Minecraft on his tablet. He was so good at it. In fact, he taught me a few things and made me laugh. His beautiful brown eyes lit up when I laughed, so I pushed back the fear of what was to come and embraced the moment. Much like I did all those years ago when Garrett found me, saved me, and loved me.

  Laughing wasn’t something I did often with Gage. It was never something I did growing up. And the past three years of only seeing Brandon when I was allowed, my laugh had been forced for him, to show him I was happy because he had asked me once why I was always sad. Telling him the truth would have been too hard. Telling him I messed up, that I didn’t deserve him, but Gage, the man he calls Daddy, did. Telling him that Gage was right about me would have been wrong. It is wrong. He’s a beautiful little boy who has everything I could have ever dreamed for a child, and so much more.

  “The storm has passed,” Gail says as she walks through the door separating our room from hers.

  “Can we go out and play?” Brand asks, jumping up off the bed and causing the crayons we were using to fly.

  “There are a lot of power lines and trees down.” Gail smiles at him, a genuine emotion, a rarity reserved for Brandon. “But I think your mom has a surprise up her sleeve.”

  “You do?” he asks, looking at me.

  I nod, not knowing what she’s talking about, yet knowing I owe her so much and trusting that whatever she does, wrong or right, she has her family’s best interest at heart.

  “She and I talked about going up to the Landing when the roads are cleared.”

  His eyes grow big as saucers. “Is Dad gonna be there?”

  “Daddy Gage just may be.” Gail nods.

  I hate that she’s insistent on calling him Daddy Gage. I get it, I do—changes are coming—but it feels wrong, and yes, it’s my fault.

  “Can we go fishing?”

  “We sure can,” I tell him.

  He laughs at me. “You fish?”

  “A long time ago, I did. I’m pretty sure I can still throw out a line.”