by Lilly Wilde
Another by-product of Cassidy, Dad, and… Mom.
I loathe Cassidy, and I loathe my father with equal measure. But most of all, I loathe my drug addict of a mother for running away. For not getting better. For leaving me behind when I was only four years old. For not being here to celebrate each milestone—to celebrate days like this one.
My birthday.
It will pass exactly like the others—uncelebrated and unnoticed. And like every year, I’ll count the hours until the day is over. Until I can forget that no one cares. That I’m alone. That I don’t know what unconditional love feels like. And that I probably never will.
Those are the cards I’ve been dealt.
I snap from my thoughts and frown at my appearance in the mirror.
I splash more water on my face, rinsing away the residue of my suffering. I tell myself that a pity party serves no purpose. So I rein in the positives.
I’m free of the cruelty and exploitation. I realize that truth. I embrace it.
I’m finally safe. I take a deep penetrating breath, bathing my insides with this acknowledgment.
But reality is lurking in the shadows. It seizes the pit of my gut and siphons every ounce of my composure.
Cassidy can still hurt me.
By hurting Noah.
And poof, just like that, it’s gone. The fragility of my calm becomes apparent, and a sharp stab pierces my chest. Each breath is constricted. Each pull of air into my lungs is tainted with the horror of the past and the threat of the future.
I have no weapons for this fight. I’ve nothing but anguish and despair. And those are by no means the artillery needed to go up against Cassidy. So maybe karma will take on this one. Maybe karma will wrap its tendrils around Cassidy’s throat and finish the job I started. But does karma even exist? I have to believe it does, so I’ll hold on to it like it’s the only thing I have… because it is.
I grab a paper towel and dot my face.
One of these days, Cassidy Merritt will get what’s coming to her.
For now, I play by her rules.
Because I have no choice.
Because of the cards I’ve been dealt.
Because of my love for Noah.
January 5, 2017
“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU CAME,” Jace says, looking up, smiling between licks of chocolate ice cream.
I tousle his hair. “I told you I would, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but I figured you’d send Mr. Jimmy or Miss Loretta to check on me. Sure glad you came instead. So how long are you stayin’?”
This is the part that twists my gut—leaving my kid brother behind, telling him my visit won’t be as long as he’d like. “Just until I find Mama. You know that, Jace.”
His shoulders slump.
“But I’m coming back next month,” I add, thinking the reminder will lift his spirits.
“Yeah, but only for three days and you’re gone again.”
So much for that. Maybe I should tell him I’ll come back the month after. Or that I’ll stay longer next time. I decide to say neither because there’s nothing I can tell him that won’t be a lie.
Jace lets out a sigh, his cone almost forgotten.
Fuck. “How about you come out for one of the games?”
His eyes light up. “Can I stand on the sidelines with you and the team again?”
I shrug. “I don’t see why not.”
“Sometimes I can’t believe you’re my brother,” he says, returning his attention to the melting cream. “And not only because you’re this big famous quarterback, but because you’re fun to be around, you know? Some of my friends—their brothers suck! But not you. You teach me a lot of neat stuff. About football… and girls.” He grins and flips his new Redhorns hat to the back. “You’re cool. Like me.”
I lift a brow. “Don’t you have that in reverse? It’s you who’s cool like me, kid.”
“Yeah, that too.” He chomps the bottom of his cone.
I lift my cup and take a pull from the straw, my attention moving toward the crowd of patrons assembled near the order window—pointing, staring, or pulling out their phones. It will only be a matter of minutes before the Blue Ridgers descend—demanding autographs, pictures, and conversation. None of which I’m in the mood for. Trying to preserve uninterrupted time with Jace, I steer him several feet out toward the sitting area. He straddles one of the benches and I mimic his position on the seat across from him.
He grimaces at the green juice in my cup. “Why are you drinking that?”
“Because it’s healthier than that artificial crap you’re eating.” I extend the veggie drink to him. “Try it.”
“Nah. I’m good with the artificial crap.”
I chuckle.
“Hanging with you is the best even if it’s only for ice cream. Are you sure you can’t stay an extra day?”
It’s been less than twenty-four hours and coach is already losing his shit. Calling. Texting. Leaving messages. None to which I’ve responded. “I gotta head back, Jace. The playoffs, remember?”
“Yeah, I know.” A flash of disappointment crosses his face. “I just wish we had more time together.”
“I do, too, squirt.” It’s like he’s programmed to say just the right words to kick me in the balls. Every single time. “But hey, we have today, so let’s make the most of it, all right?”
He stuffs the last of the cone into his mouth and speaks around his food. “We have to find Mama first.”
“No. I have to find Mama and you have practice. Let’s get you back to the school. Jimmy and I will track down Mama, and we’ll all be together by dinner.”
“You think so?” he asks, his voice hopeful.
“Yeah. I’m sure she’s fine,” I say, as we pull away from the ice cream parlor.
Minutes later, I slow to a stop near the football field and Jace hops out of the car, throwing me a strange look before grabbing his bag.
My brows scrunch, wondering why he’s staring with that wide grin of his. “Did I miss something?”
“Nope, I’m really glad you’re home.”
I frown, bothered by how easily he communicates his feelings. “What have I told you about emotions?”
“To push them down. But that’s with other people, right? Not family. Not you and me.”
“It applies to everyone,” I say, my voice firm. “Emotions give way to weakness.”
“But Mama says emotions are important.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course she does. “Get going, Jace. You don’t want to be late.”
He reaches for his duffel bag, then looks back at me as if something has occurred to him. “I’ll only do the emotions thing for Mama, okay? She likes it.”
“It’s fine, kid.” I’ll deprogram him later.
“You’ve shown emotions too, you know. Even today. I saw ’em. But you aren’t weak, Branch. You’re the strongest person I know.” He leans in as if making sure no one hears. “Love you, big bro,” he whispers, and then he closes the door, jogging off to join his teammates.
Dammit, Jace. That kid is determined to get under my skin.
I stare after him, remembering the days when I was stepping onto that same field. I flip off my cap, toss it on the seat, and run a hand through my hair, exhaling the worry I didn’t want my brother to see.
Where the fuck is Mama?
Jimmy and I have no luck at the police station or the local hospitals. No one by the name of Mary McGuire is registered, and none of the Jane Does fit Mama’s description. We drive around town for hours, checking spots she’s mentioned or ventured off to in the past. But nothing.
Tired and frustrated, I fall quiet, racking my brain for any clue as to where she could be. And after perusing every lead, we still come up empty, but Denver promises to keep looking. This means more time in Georgia. I hate to deliver the news about Mama to Jace, but my spending an extra day in Blue Ridge will soften the blow.
Dinner at Jimmy and Loretta’s is a reminder of
the pages of a chapter that’s best left untouched. The chapter some would entitle Childhood. Or Good Luck, Hope You Make It. Or whatever fucking term describes that time period. Was mine bad? That’s still undecided. But if there was any good, it’s directly attributed to Jimmy. Not to sell Mama short. I genuinely love Mary McGuire. Despite some of her stunts over the years, I know she’s a loving mother. And I know she’s a good woman. A good woman who’s been served a raw deal. And aside from her condition, I’m convinced her biggest flaw is that she loves too hard.
My father, well, he was—and still is—one big shitload of disappointment, which is where Jimmy came in. After Dad left, Jimmy checked in on us as often as he could, sometimes every other day. Over time, those days became weeks, months, and years that Jimmy would pinch-hit for a man who didn’t give two shits about what he’d left behind.
Jimmy became a man with two families, or maybe it was one big fucked-up family… I don’t know. But Loretta—the saint she is—allowed him to have it. And even with the responsibility of being a wife and mother, she became a second pair of hands at the McGuire household, helping out on those days when Mama was unable to do much more than stare into space or carry on her one-sided conversations.
Loretta’s help extended beyond the household chores of cooking, cleaning, and shopping. There were medical appointments, birthday parties, and gifts at Christmas. All the things a mother would take care of—she did. I knew then, as I do now, there’s no way to repay that type of debt.
I glance between Loretta and Jimmy, the couple who give so freely of themselves but who’ve made a habit of refusing any gifts from me beyond game tickets. I decide on a new approach. Something they can’t refuse as they have in the past.
Loretta is buried in conversation with Jace and her daughters about school and plans for the upcoming fall break, while Jimmy and I squabble over football stats and predictions for the playoffs. When Jimmy mentions my returning next month for the Blue Ridge Bowl, Jace’s attention shifts, his eyes pinned on me.
“I’m still on the town council and we finally got started on the rec center I’ve been pushing for,” Jimmy announces.
“Hey, that’s great,” I say and take a long swig of my beer.
“We had to pause construction, though. That tornado last spring did some real damage, so some funds had to be redirected.”
“Sorry to hear that, Jim.”
“We’ll get it back on track. We expect tourism and donations to increase now that we’ve partnered with the local football star,” he says and waggles his brows.
“Happy to help out.”
“No, you aren’t.” He chuckles. “You hate coming back here.”
True. But I don’t say it aloud, and I wish Jimmy hadn’t. Not in front of Jace. “I’ve already been roped into that annual weekend gig, so why not add an extra day? And it’s cool the kids will have something here that I didn’t.”
“Yeah, and it’s not like you’d miss the opportunity to be in the spotlight.”
“Gotta keep my name on everyone’s lips.”
“No chance your name is forgotten anytime soon.” He stares at me as we grab our plates and head to the kitchen.
“What’s with the look?” I ask.
“It’s good to have you here. Feels like the old days. Why don’t you come by the garage tomorrow? Work on a few cars with me for old time’s sake.”
Now that I’ve seen for myself that Jace is okay, all my attention is reserved for finding Mama. “I didn’t come here to work.”
“I know. But imagine the prices I could charge if my customers know the Branch McGuire had his hands on their engines.”
“That’s not your style, Jim.”
“Okay. It’s not. But it would be a real treat for these people to know you worked on their cars. Come on. Just a few hours. You can hang out, sign a few autographs.”
“What time do you want me there?” I figure work is a better alternative to climbing the walls or putting my fist through them, which is more than likely the reason Jimmy is making the effort to distract me.
“Let’s say a little after one. You can close the place down with me and we’ll grab a beer afterward.”
“Are we leaving already?” Jace asks when he sees me heading for the door.
“Yeah. Long day tomorrow.” I signal him to say his thank-you, and I follow his lead.
“Don’t forget the keys to Crystal,” Jimmy says.
“Already have ’em.”
As a buffer to my Blue Ridge visits, Jimmy consistently hands over the keys to his mint-condition viper-red Corvette. He loves that car, and while he’s fine with my driving it, he won’t consider selling. I’ve volunteered to take it off his hands more times than I can count, even offering more than it’s worth, but he says the car is a part of his family and he doesn’t sell off family to the highest bidder.
He’d think differently if his family was like mine.
The next morning I receive a call from Denver. Someone who fits Mama’s description is registered in the mental ward of a hospital two counties over. Thinking this could be another dead end, I decide not to tell Jace. No point in getting his hopes up.
After dropping him off at school, I pick up Jimmy and we head over to Union General. Jimmy Perez may wear the title of close family friend, but he’s more of a parent. Always present for those times when a father should be. Not that I don’t have a bio parent who holds that title, but Curtis McGuire is better suited for the role of distant uncle or cousin. He’s been missing more than he’s been around, except for football season, when he managed to show up without being asked.
I’d spot him in the stands—same seat every game. He never said a word to me, before the games or after. In fact, he typically left right before the games ended. I never understood why he bothered to come. At first, I figured it gave him a reason to boast—his son was the star quarterback. That’s probably where it all started—my chasing the spotlight. Whenever I was there standing center stage, I had Dad’s attention. And at times, it felt as if I needed the limelight more than I needed the sport I’d grown up loving. And now I’m so addicted to it I don’t know how life would be without it. Was I still seeking attention from a man who wasn’t worth the dirt he was made from?
Back then, I absolutely was. I played harder. I ran faster. I did everything I could to keep the focus on me. To keep his focus on me. Although angry, I wanted him there and I figured the better I played, the more likely he was to come back, and maybe, just maybe, he’d stay afterward. That never happened. And as suddenly as Dad started coming to my games, he stopped. I never understood why and I never asked.
After confirming Mama’s identity, Jimmy and I walk down the hall to her room. I stand outside the door, bracing myself for any of the different Mary McGuires I’d encountered through the years.
“I can come in with you,” Jimmy offers.
“Nah. I’m good.”
He nods. “I’ll go grab some coffee, then.” He heads off in the opposite direction as I step into the room.
“Mama,” I say, my voice low.
She looks up, her eyes narrowed, studying me as if I’m a stranger.
She battles heavy lids.
They win.
Her eyes close.
The nurse approaches, whispering when she’s a few feet away. “Your mother’s behavior was very erratic when they brought her in. So she was heavily sedated. Now that we’ve gotten her records and treatment protocol, we’re reintroducing her regular meds into her system.”
I glance at the IV, my eyes following the line to Mama’s arm.
“You may want to come back when she’s a bit more normal.”
Normal? Mary McGuire? I suppose there were times when she was normal. Maybe normal is an inaccurate label. But she was her version of normal. And that meant good times. The times Jace deserves.
“I’ll stay until she’s more herself.”
Instead of taking that as her cue to leave, the nurse steps cl
oser.
My brow rises. “Do you need something, sugar?”
Her tongue flicks across her lower lip, her gaze pinned to mine. “I have an hour break coming up. I can sit with you if you’d like.”
I look her over. She’s young, mid-twenties I’d guess. Cute face, decent-sized tits, tight little body. But I’m not here to fuck cute nurses with decent-sized tits. And that’s all she’d get if I was. A long, hard fuck. There’d be no small talk, no questions about why she chose a profession in the medical field. Because I wouldn’t care. For that entire hour, she’d have what she was asking for—my cock, balls deep inside her anxious little cunt. I’d get a release, maybe two. And then I’d send her on her way. “Not necessary, but thanks for the offer.”
“No problem. And just so you know, I’m a really big fan. Really. Really. Big.” Her eyes take a slow crawl over my body, assessing me from head to toe, her lips curving into a smile when her eyes finally touch mine. “Probably one of your biggest.”
She’s not yet discouraged. She should be. She’s offered; I’ve declined. Any further advances only serve to degrade her and irritate me. I suppress the urge to tell her exactly that, but as I step past her, she adds, “Well, if you need anything or change your mind, here’s my number.” She jots it down on a piece of paper that she flips over, places to her lips, kisses on the back, then passes to me. “I’m Nurse Christina, by the way, and in case you’re wondering, I don’t have a problem playing nurse after hours.” With a wink, she turns and exits the room.
My first instinct is to toss the scrap of paper, but something she said sparks an idea, so I tuck her number in my pocket and send Jimmy a text, updating him. No point in both of us hanging around.