My Brother's Bad Best Friend

by B. B. Hamel

  “You here for a bike?” he asks.

  I nod and gesture at Lizzie. She’s standing near the door, looking both shy and annoyed. “Something for her.”

  He nods once. “What is she, five three?”

  “Five four,” I correct.”

  He grins and comes around the counter. “You got a preference?” he asks her.

  She shakes her head, apparently unable to speak. I can tell she’s still annoyed that I railroaded her, but Randy’s taking over now, and there’s no stopping Randy.

  He shrugs like he doesn’t care either way and steps toward his kingdom. There are tons of used bikes in here, all shapes and sizes, and I know for a fact that Randy knows each of them intimately. He picks them from the trash, fixes them up, and sells them again. San Diego is a skating city, but a lot of people still bike, and Randy’s selection is the best and the cheapest.

  It takes him all of two minutes before he pulls out a little teal road bike, simple and sturdy. “Here it is,” he says. “Your future.”

  I grin at Lizzie. “Get on,” I say. “Give it a try.”

  She hesitates but walks over, taking the handlebars from Randy. She steps over and sits down, one foot on the ground, glancing up at him.

  He nods, beaming. “Perfect fit,” he says. “Just perfect.”

  “How much is it?” she asks.

  He glances at me. “For your friend? Eighty. For other people? Two hundred.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “Come on, man, that’s too good of a discount.”

  “Truthfully I found that in the dump last week, but it was already in great condition. I put in maybe a half hour of work and twenty bucks worth of parts, so I’m still coming out ahead on this deal.”

  I look at Lizzie, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

  She squeezes the handlebars and looks at the bike before looking back at me. There’s this strange look on her face, like she’s about to cry.

  “I love it,” she says.

  “Good.” I steer Randy back to the front counter. “Got any helmets?” I ask him.

  “’Course. Got a decent one for her.”

  I give him a hundred even for the bike and the helmet, which seems to make him happy. Lizzie walks the bike out the front and stops on the sidewalk, teal bike shining in the morning sun, blue helmet dangling in her hand.

  “I’ve never had a bike before,” she says softly.

  “Really?”

  She nods a little. She leans the bike up against my Jeep and sits down on the curb, hugging her knees to her chest.

  I sit down next to her. I can tell she needs a second, so I don’t say anything. I just sit there watching as the sun climbs up in the sky, lighting up the ocean and the city in waves of reflected sparkle.

  “My dad wouldn’t let me have a bike,” I say to her finally after a long silence.

  She looks over at me. “Really?”

  “Really. He was an asshole. A lot like Royal, actually.” I say that pointedly, and she seems to understand.

  “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I didn’t know.”

  I shrug. “It wasn’t so bad for me. Worse for my mom.” I look over at her, forcing a smile on my face. “But I really wanted a bike back then, really bad. So one day, I was maybe ten at the time, I saw these older kids outside of a gas station filling up their bike tires.” I think back to that day, to the smell of the gas, the concrete under my shoes, and I have no clue what I was thinking. Those boys were all bigger than me, tougher than me, but I wasn’t afraid. I wanted something, and nothing stops me when I want something.

  “I waited for the first guy to get finished,” I tell her. “The other two were arguing over who was going next as he got onto his bike and started to test it out. It was this BMX thing, shiny and metal and too big for me. I waited for him to ride past the bushes I was standing in before I stepped out and shoved him as hard as I could.”

  Her eyes go wide. “You pushed him off his bike?”

  “Yep,” I say. “I was a little asshole. The kid hit the ground and started yelling, but it was too late. His friends weren’t ready, and one of them already was starting to fill up his tire. I hopped on the bike, yanking it from the kid’s hands, and rode off as fast as I could. I thought they were going to kill me, but I never saw them again.”

  I smile a little bit. I was a little savage back then, totally uncaring about my own safety or the safety of others. I was willing to hurt and fight to get what I wanted, because the only way I knew was violence, just like my daddy taught me.

  “You stole your first bike.” She’s smiling a little bit.

  “Yeah, I know. I was an asshole. But that kid’s parents probably bought him a new one, while my dad whooped my ass when he found it a week later.”

  She laughs softly, shaking her head. “I know you got beat but you kind of deserved it.”

  “Yeah,” I say softly. “I kind of did. Good thing though, dad walked out a month later, said he was going to meet up with a friend at a bar and never came home.”

  “Shit,” she says softly.

  “Left my mom for another woman and never bothered saying bye to me. I have no clue if he’s alive or not anymore, and I guess I don’t care.”

  “That must’ve been hard.”

  “Harder for my mom,” I say. “I was just a kid. I could escape into anger and fantasy and vent all my frustrations out on the world. But my mom, she was an older single mom with a kid, she had no chance anymore. I think part of her left with my dad back then and just never came back.”

  We lapse into silence again. I look over at her and she looks back at me, the sunlight playing through her hair, and I can feel my breath coming in fast. My heart’s beating hard in my chest and I have this sudden urge to reach out and stroke the hair from her face.

  But I remember the way her brother stared at me earlier, throwing the pile of cash onto my desk, and I know I need to keep my distance, at least until things with him have quieted down.

  “I think I’m going to ride home.” She hops to her feet suddenly, tossing the helmet on her head.

  “Do you know the way?” I ask her.

  She shrugs, pulling the bike upright and getting on. “Pretty sure. It’s not that far.”

  “Okay then.” I stand up and watch as she rides in a big circle around the parking lot. She looks fucking gorgeous on that bike, and for some weird reason, I feel proud. She’s getting out there, getting out into the world and owning it. I’m fucking proud of her for that.

  “See you back there!” she calls out.

  “See you.” I watch as she rides off, her tone, firm legs pumping the pedals. She smoothly pulls out into traffic and speeds off down the road, her hair blowing behind her.

  “Shit,” I say softly to myself, turning back to the Jeep.

  “She’s hot.” I turn to see Randy standing in the door of his shop. “She your girlfriend?”

  “Nah, you old perv.”

  He grins at me, hand running through his ponytail. “She should be. If I were your age and she were around, I’d make sure she got a taste of my—”

  “Okay, I get it,” I interrupt him. I really don’t need to hear about anyone tasting Randy and his weird hippie dong. “See you later.” I climb into my Jeep before he can answer. He grins at me and waves as I pull out.

  Randy may be fucking weird, but he’s right about one thing: I should be tasting that girl every chance I get. If only things were simpler.

  Maybe if I’m smart, I can make things simpler for both of us, and get everything I want.

  12

  Lizzie

  The wind whips through my hair as I speed down the street. Cars pass close by but I barely notice them. I love the feeling of the sun on my skin, the cool breeze along my face, the speed of the bike under my weak legs. I pedal harder, pushing myself until my breathing picks up. I can feel sweat prickling my underarms and that only spurs me on harder. My thighs and calves ache like always but this is a good pain. Thi
s is the pain of getting stronger.

  I haven’t ridden a bike in so long, but the old cliché is true, you never really forget how to do it. At first I was tentative, a little scared, a little intimidated by all the cars and the other bikers, but now I don’t care. It’s been a week since Jonas surprised me with this, and it’s the best present I’ve ever been given in my life.

  It’s freedom. I can go anywhere in the city now, as long as I’m willing to bike there. I don’t have to ask anyone for rides or worry about walking or public transportation. I don’t have to stress about being in taxis or about catching trains. I can go wherever I want, wind-whipped and perfect.

  It’s beautiful. I always thought people riding their bikes around the city were kind of lame, or hipsters, or whatever, but now I get it. Riding a bike is absolute freedom at its purest.

  And I can get places faster than I thought. It takes me maybe five minutes to ride to work, ten if I’m being lazy and following traffic laws. I always wear my helmet, because I’m not a total moron, but I do get a little reckless sometimes. It just feels good, pushing myself and my boundaries. It feels good to want to do things in the world again.

  I don’t know if Jonas really understands what this bike means to me, and I haven’t been able to tell him. Ever since I started working at Half Pipe, he’s gotten super busy with the new crop of weed that’s being harvested. Ezra’s been around more for that too, still staying out late at night and coming home at random hours, but he’s coming home at least. He gets a few hours’ sleep and comes to help with the plants all day before leaving again at night.

  Jonas and Ezra are barely talking to each other, and Ezra hardly notices that I exist. I guess I can’t blame him. I’m mostly in the café, which he never bothers coming into since he doesn’t drink coffee, and I’m usually asleep when he gets back from wherever he is all night.

  I wish I could say that Jonas and I have gotten closer after what happened, but that wouldn’t be true. It’s not like he’s ignoring me or avoiding me, but whenever I try and engage with him, he’s always too busy or too tired or just locked up in his room or his office.

  I still catch glimpses of him at the apartment. Jonas reaching up to a top cabinet in the kitchen, his muscular arms pulling down a bottle of whisky, fingers running through his beard. Jonas helping Lane wipe down a table, eyes focused on the task in front of him. Jonas smoking alone on the back porch, his face lit by the flare of the joint between his lips, handsome and brooding and alone. Once, I even caught him wearing nothing but a towel around his waist as he left the bathroom. That one earned me just a grin and one comment: “Like what you see, little rose?”

  Nothing more than that, nothing deeper. I caught a glimpse of the Jonas that lurks below the surface outside of the bike shop when he told me about his dad. I had no clue he had an abusive father and that his mom had to raise him alone. I never really thought about his family. He’s always seemed so in charge of himself, so self-assured that I figured he just sprouted from an egg somewhere fully formed and ready to be an adult. Obviously that’s wrong, of course he has a mother and a father and a history with them, a messy and complicated and ugly and beautiful history, like we all do. Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in your own tragedy and forget that other people are living out their own stories, and those stories aren’t always perfect.

  One week after the harvest starts, I’m closing down the café with Lane. It’s late thanks to a group of teenagers that didn’t want to leave, and Lane didn’t feel like kicking them out. They finally got up and wandered out on their own, a full forty-five minutes after they should’ve left, but I guess it’s our own fault.

  “I can finish up,” I say as Lane opens the register.

  “Nah, it’s okay. We got most of it done already.”

  “Seriously, I can do it. You’ve closed this place enough on your own.”

  She hesitates a second. “I do have a date tonight.” She bites her lower lip, checking her watch. “I could use the extra time.”

  “A date?” I grin a little bit, leaning toward her. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Some asshole,” she says, sighing. “Remember that suit I was flirting with a week ago?”

  “Seriously?” I laugh at her as she slides out from behind the counter. “He doesn’t seem like your type.”

  “He’s not.” She takes off her apron and tosses it over a peg near the door. “But we went out a few nights ago, and I got a little drunk and figured, whatever, why not, so I went home with him. And holy shit.” She meets my gaze, her eyes sparkling. “He was freaking amazing.”

  “Really?” I stop what I’m doing to listen, my whole body thrumming. For some reason even the suggestion of sex has me on fire right now. Truth is, I’ve been buzzing off that moment with Jonas last week, feeding off that memory. It was so incredibly hot and all I want is the natural continuation of that moment, but he hasn’t given it to me. Maybe that’s why he’s been so busy lately.

  “Seriously, amazing.” She sighs. “He’s such a stuck-up suit, but I’m not going to pass up good dick when I find it.”

  I giggle a little bit, covering my mouth. “Good dick?”

  “You know, the kind that’s toe-curling and fits just right? Not too big, not too small? That’s good dick.”

  “I guess… I don’t have all that much experience.”

  She gives me a look. “You’re young. Give it some time.”

  “Yeah.” I hesitate. “I’ve only slept with one guy, and he’s dead now.”

  “That boyfriend from the accident?” She asks so nonchalantly, almost like it’s no big deal to talk about. I’ve noticed that she never mentions the accident, but I know she knows. Everyone that knows me knows about that accident. Jonas probably briefed her and told her not to bring it up, but sometimes it’s good to talk about it.

  “Yeah, Nathan,” I say. “He was okay, I guess. We were young and he couldn’t exactly, you know.” I blush a little bit.

  “What, get you off?”

  “That, and he couldn’t last very long.”

  Lane laughs. “Young guys get too excited, but older guys…” She trails off and shrugs. “Anyway, just practice some more. That good dick is out there, waiting for you.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I bet.”

  She laughs as I blush again and waves, heading to the door. “See you later. Thanks again.”

  “Bye.”

  I go back to counting, alone in the café for the first time ever. My mind keeps drifting back to what she said about older guys and good dick, and the image of Jonas wearing nothing but a towel keeps flashing through my brain.

  I can barely keep count. I have to stop and start a few times before I finish. When I’m done, I go through the usual task of finishing up the cleaning and straightening, although there’s not much left to do. I’m done maybe ten minutes later, a stack of cash in my hands as I head down toward Jonas’s office with the day’s deposit.

  He looks up as I knock. He’s always the first one in and the last one out. His eyebrow arches as I walk over, cash in hand. “Today’s register,” I say.

  He takes the stack, thumbing through it. “Lane usually does this,” he notes.

  “She had a hot date.”

  “Really?” He arches an eyebrow. “Good for her.”

  “Yeah, I figured I could close out. I’ve seen her do it enough times.”

  “How do I know you didn’t steal anything?”

  I roll my eyes. “Because I’m not a total scum, that’s how. And the cash matches the receipts.”

  His eyes flash a little bit and that grin slowly crosses his lips. I haven’t seen it in a little while, that intense and mischievous look like he’s thinking about doing something bad. But the harvest finished this morning and he’s been in an exceptionally good mood all afternoon.

  “You know what they do in drug houses?” he asks me.

  I shake my head. “I’m sure it’s not something a boss should say to his employee
, though.”

  He ignores that. “They make them work naked, maybe just a pair of panties and a hairnet. That way, they can’t steal anything even if they want to.”

  “You think I should work naked?” I arch an eyebrow at him. “I doubt we’d get much work done.”

  “We’d double our customers, I know that for sure.” He pushes his chair back. “No, you don’t have to work naked. But I know the next best thing.”

  He walks around the desk toward me, that light and cunning grin getting bigger.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him.

  “I think I need to strip search you. Make sure there’s no money stashed away on your person.”

  I take a step back, heart beating fast as he comes closer. This is what I’ve been wanting so badly all week, but I can’t tell how serious he’s being. If he tells me to strip, get down on my knees, and to suck his cock, I know I will, I just can’t tell if he’s serious or not.

  “Don’t joke around,” I warn him. “That’s sexual harassment.”

  “It absolutely is.” He stops in front of me, head cocked to the side. “I won’t make it mandatory. We’ll call it an optional strip search.”

  I bite my lower lip. “Can’t see why anyone would submit to anything so invasive, especially when you’re the one doing it, asshole.”

  “You know why you’d submit to me.” He laughs softly. “Fuck, little rose, it’s been a long and trying week. I know I should be nice, but I can’t help teasing you sometimes.”

  I let out a breath and smile along with him. He is just kidding, which is good, I guess. We’ve been avoiding this for a reason. Although Ezra’s been coming into work, at least a little bit, he’s still selling drugs on the side. He’s not getting any better.

  He sighs and turns away from me. I watch as he opens a safe and tosses my little stack of money in there before shutting it again and turning to me. “Want me to walk you out?”