by Freya Barker
“Hey!” I yell at the young punk waving the broken bottle in the face of one of my regulars, lifting the pipe over my head. “Drop that fucking bottle, asshole!”
He turns, bottle in hand and tries to swipe it across the bar at me. Without another thought, I swing the pipe down, hitting the offending arm as hard as I can. He fucking screams like a baby, dropping the bottle and cradling the now awkwardly bent arm with his other.
“You fucking bitch!” Anger racked up, with adrenaline and alcohol flowing, he comes charging over the bar, only to be hauled back by the scruff of the neck.
“You be nice to the lady, or I’ll break your other fucking arm. And word of warning, I might not leave it at that.” Ike’s voice is deceptively quiet amid the melee around us as he twists punk-boy’s good arm behind him, while keeping him in a chokehold. Somewhere over the ruckus I hear Dino, who had also come storming in, yell the cops are on their way. Unfortunately, this bit of news doesn’t seem to penetrate the mass of twisting bodies. So I turn, leaving Ike to handle the punk and climb over the bar, pipe in my hand.
It is likely only a few minutes, but it seems like hours, before a surge of police officers pushes through the crowd, slapping cuffs on whomever they encounter. I find myself lifted on the counter by Gunnar and have a chance to think. Where the fuck did all these people come from? When I went to pick up my order, the bar was about half full and now it’s teeming with bodies. Many of whom I didn’t see earlier.
Tim steps behind the bar, blood running from his nose. “Bunch of morons. Those punks who came in earlier seem to have drawn a crowd. Some kind of turf war. I don’t know.”
From the corner of my eye I see a cop approaching Ike, who is still holding onto punk-boy. Before I have a chance to call out, the cop is wrestling Ike to the ground and the kid is trying to take off.
“Hey!” I yell, jumping off the bar, taking after him. He’s almost made his way to the front when I catch up with him, grabbing onto his shirt. He swings around and before I can react, I have a fist coming at my face.
I register a crunching sound just ahead of the pain, when darkness sucks me under.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ike
“Fucking told you.”
I give the cop, who tackled me a second time when I went after Viv, a dirty look.
It had taken two of them to cuff me and toss me into the back of a patrol car, after seeing Viv go down. If not for Tim’s calm intervention, I would have been taken to the police station. I was trying to kick out the back window after I saw her being loaded into a waiting ambulance, when Tim spotted me abusing municipal property.
“I thought you were a pacifist,” he says, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me away from the cop and toward his ride. Good thing too, since the cop looks like he might be changing his mind about not charging me.
“The guy was coming after her with a bottle,” I say, by way of explanation, but Tim only chuckles.
“He’d already dropped it when she broke his arm.”
“Yeah,” I semi-groan, the memory of the blonde Amazon not blinking as she faced off with the guy still heating my blood. She’s something else. That was fucking hot, watching her fearlessly jumping into the fray. Even for a pacifist.
-
“That was fucking awesome!”
Viv is sitting up in the hospital bed when we finally get there an hour or so later. Her face is bloodied, one eye is swollen shut and turning black, and the other looks wild.
Even though no charges had been filed against me, the cops still wanted a detailed run down of what I knew. It had taken me some time to convince Tim to wait for me when he announced going to “check on Viv.”
Gunnar’s pretty redhead is standing beside her, trying to push her back down, while he is in the corner scowling.
“Dammit, Viv. Lie the hell back down,” he barks, when he spots Tim and me in the doorway. “Damn woman’s probably got a concussion. She sure as fuck is out of her mind.”
Giggling from the bed has me turn my head in that direction. Sure enough, it looks like Viv has become slightly unhinged. The fuck?
Gunnar’s wife, Syd, must have spotted the confusion on my face, because she sits down on the edge of the bed, making sure Viv stays down before she explains. “She has an orbital fracture. When she woke up earlier she was in a lot of pain, so they gave her some narcotics. Seems to work, she’s not feeling any pain now, but it does mean they’ll keep her overnight for monitoring.”
“Reckless,” Gunnar is still grumbling in the corner.
“She gonna be okay?” I ask Syd, moving to the other side of the bed.
“Should be. Maybe blurred vision for a while, and headaches, but they say it looks like nothing’s been displaced, so she should be all right.”
“Heyyyy, lover,” Viv slurs from the bed in my direction, causing all eyes in the room to turn to me. Great.
“Hey, slugger.” I smile at her, avoiding the heated glares. She looks like shit. Partially obscured by the single strand of bright blue hair, a small cut above her eyebrow looks to be the likely reason for the blood on her face, and her eye is a mess. Still she’s beautiful.
“You s-saved me,” she stutters, reaching her hand out.
“More like you saved yourself, gorgeous.” I take her offered hand and squeeze it, still ignoring everyone else in the room.
Before anyone can say anything else, a nurse walks in telling us visiting hours are long over and before anyone else has a chance, I lean over and kiss the back of Viv’s hand.
“Night, Viv.”
She just smiles a big goofy smile at me, when I’m physically shoved aside by Tim. Not trusting myself to watch his hands on her, I make my way out of the room. Waiting outside the lobby doors, I have my back against the wall, sucking in fresh air.
“The fuck was that all about?” Tim wants to know when he joins me outside, getting in my space.
“None of your goddamn ...” I start when Gunnar and Syd show up behind him, Gunnar clasping a hand on his shoulder.
“Ease up there, Tim. I’m thinking Viv’s got enough big brothers to defend her virtue.” I’m surprised at Gunnar’s words. Would have thought for sure he’d be next in line to question me, but when I see Syd’s smile for her husband, I have a feeling she may have had a quick word before they came outside.
Tim takes a step back. “She’s a friend, Ike.”
“I know. You mentioned that before. And for the record, so has he.” I indicate Gunnar beside him.
With just a nod, Tim turns and walks to his car, getting and driving off without giving me a second glance. Fuckin’ A. I’m stranded.
I’m surprised when Syd hooks her arm with Gunnar’s and slips her other one in mine. “Looks like we’re gonna share a cab,” she chuckles.
We all end up back at The Skipper, where some guy named Dino is in charge of clean up. Surprisingly, the actual damage to the place is minimal. One broken barstool, a hole in the drywall, and some broken glass is all that’s visible of the brawl. After Syd fills him in on Viv’s condition, she pulls out an expensive bottle of scotch and a bunch of shot glasses, planting them on the bar.
Gunnar groans. “Bird, really? You have to grab the most expensive bottle again?”
“Whatever,” she mutters with a grin, shoving a shot glass at each of us.
-
By the time I get home that night, after helping with clean up and tossing back a few shots, it’s past three in the morning and I’m pretty buzzed. Going to feel it tomorrow morning. With my clothes still on, I roll into bed. My last thought, before I pass out, is of Viv wielding that damn pipe over her head, grinning like a fool.
Viv
I wake up to Dorian, sitting by the side of my bed. “Hey, Sissy.” He smiles gently. Good thing too, because my head and face are throbbing.
“Hey,” I croak, my mouth tasting like the inside of a sceptic tank. Yuck.
Slowly, last night’s events roll by, up to and including some vagu
e recollection of my Skipper family and Ike. Jesus. Ike. I remember feeling almost euphoric and rambling, yet can’t quite recall what came out of my mouth. I think I may have thanked him for coming to my rescue. Better do it properly, whenever I see him again.
Damn. Can’t do narcotics, they make me loopy and give me a giant hangover. Like the one I have now.
“How did you get here?” I ask my brother, who looks almost angry.
“Gunnar called Owen, who called me. At fucking seven o’clock this morning.” He leans back in his seat and folds his arms. Uh oh, a sure tell for Dorian that he is majorly pissed. “Wanna tell me why it is that we find out our sister is in the hospital as a result of a bar brawl, the morning after? Dammit, Viv, Gunnar said you had insisted not calling us last night. Why the fuck not?”
I wince at the combination of anger and hurt in his voice. My brothers, who are always ready to jump to my rescue, bristle whenever my independent side overrides. I stopped turning to them when I’d gotten myself in hot water with Frank, my ex, and was afraid of what the boys would do to him if they found out. They never knew my struggles at the time. The one good thing that came out of that was finding better ways to cope. I’d been a pain in everyone’s ass for years before I even met Frank. Then he became a pain in my ass. Quite literally at times.
For the life of me, I can’t figure out how my mind went there, with Dorian sitting next to me, glowering. “Sorry,” I offer weakly. “I didn’t want to worry you guys. We have enough going on with Dad. I promise, I would’ve let Gunnar call you, had it been any more serious. But as it is, it’s only a black eye.” I reach out to place a soothing hand on his arm, but the IV line I’m still attached to restricts me.
The scowl on his face gentles fractionally before he reaches over, grabbing my hand in his. “Think we all know you can take care of yourself by now, Sis, but we’re family. You were there for me for years. How fair is it not to give me the same opportunity?”
I could argue with that, but I don’t. Not the right time or place, if ever. Instead I give him what I hope is an apologetic, slightly watery smile.
-
By noon we’re finally on our way home. Dorian had waited with me until the doctor finally appeared with my release papers and care instructions. Of course he’d been on the phone half the time with his life-partner, Kyle, back in San Fran where the two of them run a small gallery. Kyle is a photographer and Dorian, eager to make an extra buck when he’d been new in town, had been one of his models. That is, until he became more. I met Kyle once, when I visited San Francisco a few years ago. No one else in the family has though. I don’t think they even know Dorian is gay; it’s certainly never come up in discussion. I know that when my parents stopped there on their West Coast RV trip, Kyle had grudgingly moved his things out of their joint house temporarily. Don’t ask me how Dorian’s been able to keep it a secret this long, it boggles my mind. As far as my family knows, Kyle is merely Dorian’s business partner.
“How’s Kyle?” I ask innocently, earning me a weary look.
“Business is fine, so is Kyle.”
“He must miss you.”
“Don’t start, Viv,” Dorian answers, the warning evident in his voice.
“Come on, Dor, surely at forty-two it’s getting old to hide who you are, isn’t it?” I’m not sure why I’m prodding, but something makes me want to push him. Don’t know if it’s the knock on my head, or our father’s health, or what. I don’t want my brother to live with regrets. Ever.
“Are we talking about hiding? You really want to go there, Sis? Because I’m guessing I could learn a thing or two from you on that subject.” With one eyebrow raised he throws the challenge my way.
Ouch. Right between the eyes.
He’s right. I have no right to call him out when I have enough shit tucked away in nooks and crannies myself. Fuck, if my family knew all, the shit storm would be so massive, they wouldn’t even flinch at the fact Dor is gay.
I pout in silence. Having been bested by my brother is nothing new, he’s always been much sharper than me.
When he drives past my exit, I put my hand on his arm. “Hey, where are you taking me?”
“To the ‘rents. Mom’s been worried about you and wants to see you for herself. Besides, you have to drop me off, I’m driving your car.”
Oh, right. The last five minutes of our drive I close my eyes, mentally preparing.
-
“Did I do that?”
With a shaky voice and big eyes, my father points his finger at my face when he spots me.
“No, Dad, you didn’t,” I say.
At the same time Mom exclaims, “Fergus! What in the world?” Before turning to me and clapping her hand over her mouth. “Oh dear. I wish ...”
“Mom.” I cut her off, knowing she will go on about how there are jobs much more suitable for a young woman, yada-yada-yada. “I’m fine. Honestly, it was a bunch of young kids, who happened to pick The Skipper to wage their turf war. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“Really, Vivian? What on earth are you doing? You’re almost forty, and you’re jumping in to break up bar fights? Look at you.”
I roll my eyes at the reference to my age, something Mom likes to remind me of, from time to time. Usually she points out to me how at my age she had five children already. I’ve always been a tomboy, at least I turned into one in my teens. Never been one to shy away from the occasional fight, either. At least not when I was younger. The pendulum swung the other way after meeting Frank. He much preferred me to look feminine and act more appropriate for a girl. His words, not mine. In love and eager to please, I changed, only to change right back in defiance, a few years later. It wasn’t until a few years ago, under the guidance of Pam, my therapist, that I seemed to find a happy medium that suited me. Of course last night’s display fell a bit short of the norm, but I couldn’t stand back.
“She’s fine, Ma,” Owen’s voice comes from the kitchen. Must be his lunch break or something. He walks right up to me, wiping the hair off my forehead so he can take a good look at my shiner. “Nice one,” he hisses between his teeth, looking rather pained.
“Yeah? You should see the other guy.”
Lame joke, I know, but it gets the boys chuckling, and that cuts through the thick tension in the house.
“Coffee?” Owen asks as he tugs my hair, before turning to the kitchen. I follow him in. “Here.” He pushes a mug of steaming black liquid into my hands and scrutinizes my face. “Black and blue anywhere else on your body?”
Taking a sip, I shake my head. “Nah. He just got a lucky lick in, stupid kid. He’ll likely feel sore this morning too. I might’ve broken his arm,” I boast, a smug smile on my face.
“No shit,” Owen chuckles. “Gunnar told me you were swinging that steel pipe of yours like a fucking bat.”
I casually shrug my shoulders. “It did the job.”
Suddenly he turns serious. “He also told me the guy was wielding a broken beer bottle, Viv. Did you have to put yourself out there?”
I push down my instinct to jump on the defensive, and take a deep breath before I answer. “Know Arnie? The old guy who comes in a few nights a week for a beer and a chat?” I wait for his affirming nod before continuing. “The kid wedged him up against the bar, too drunk out of his mind and too stupid to know Arnie would never hurt a fly. He was just in the kid’s way. Couldn’t let him cut Arnie, Owen.”
Dropping his chin on his chest, he sighs. “Fair enough. But, Viv, something happens to you ...” He doesn’t need to finish the thought. I get it. Putting my mug down, I step up to him, wrap my arms around his waist, and plant my forehead in his chest.
“I know.” We stand like that for a minute when I step back, letting go of him. “How’s Dad been?” I want to know.
“Much the same. Seems to be able to find his way around the house, well enough, with the walker. Also recognizes Mom, most of the time, but seems confused when it comes to Dorian or me. Aaron hasn’t be
en by yet. He’ll come tonight and Lydia’s bringing dinner, no need to worry about that. In fact, I think we’ve got the weekend covered. Maybe when you come over Monday night, you can bring something for dinner?”
Not looking forward to the prospect of a long night in my old bedroom, but I’ll manage.
After spending another ten minutes reassuring my mom and avoiding my father’s eyes, which seem to follow me everywhere, I get up to go.
“I’ll walk you guys to the door,” Dorian offers, when Owen announces he has to get back to work too. “You’re taking it easy today, right?”
I stop and turn, patting his cheek lightly. “I will. No need to worry, I can take care of myself.”
“Whatever. Let me fuss a bit.” He tries to hold back a smile and failing when Owen starts to chuckle behind me.
“I’ll make sure she gets home,” he says, closing ranks with our brother. Traitor.
I make sure both of them see the exaggerated eye role, which has me swaying on my feet. Whoa. Bit too much, that made me dizzy. I’d planned on going in to work, but perhaps I should hold off ‘til tomorrow. Would make the boys happy.
I love my brothers—pains in my ass.
CHAPTER SIX
Viv
“‘Lo?”
From the lack of morning light, I can only deduce it is still the middle of the night. Despite my two hour nap in the afternoon when I got home, I was ready for bed again at nine. Gunnar had been pissed I’d even considered coming in when I called him to let him know I was staying home. Syd came over with some grub at five, and we ate our fish and chips at my kitchen counter, before she walked back to the pub. I’d tried for a movie after, but when I dozed off for the second time, during Magic Mike XXL no less, I knew I’d be better off in bed. At this rate, I’ll never get to ogle those pretty boys. Of course, that sent my mind on a recap of my last and only sexual encounter of the past few years. With Ike. I’d fallen asleep satisfied, until the ringing woke me.