Getting Played

by Mia Storm

  “We can start there,” she says and, at the intimation in her voice, parts of me get hot as others chill, making me shudder.

  “I’ll follow you?” I ask as she clicks the car locks on her BMW. The lights on my fifteen-year-old black Dodge truck flash when I press the button to unlock it.

  “I’ll go slow,” she says, glancing at my truck and giving me a shrewd smile.

  “You dissing my ride?” I ask, throwing her attitude back at her.

  Her smile turns decidedly more suggestive. “Certainly not. I’m a big fan of pickup trucks. Lost my virginity in the back of one.”

  I open her door. “I’ll follow your lead. Go as fast as you want. Promise I’ll keep up.”

  “See you there,” she says, sliding in.

  I close the door behind her and head for my truck.

  She guns the engine and we weave through town well over the speed limit. She screeches to a stop in front of Sam Hill Saloon. I find a spot just up the road and my truck predictably backfires when I cut the engine. When I double back to the bar, she’s waiting out front.

  “Fast enough for you?” she asks, brushing my bicep with her fingertips.

  “I’ve done faster.” I open the door. “After you,” I say with a flourish.

  We step through into the dimly lit space. Several people sit along the mahogany bar in back, and four of the eight tables up front are occupied with small groups. The sound system pumps Florida Georgia Line into the bar, and people are talking and laughing over the music, making it feel warm and homey. As I guide Deanna to a table near the window, I look around for Bran’s “problem,” but he’s related to everyone I see working here. His mom, Vicky, is behind the bar. She’s a local legend, rumored to have been a porn star before she got pregnant with Bran. Bran’s cousin, Carol, is waitressing tonight. She’s very pregnant. I thought maybe Vicky had hired her replacement and that’s who was giving Bran fits, but I guess not.

  Carol checks on the table next to us, then comes up behind me and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, Marcus. What can I get you?”

  I send a look at Deanna. “Ladies first.”

  “I’ll have a glass of your house cabernet,” she says.

  Carol looks a question at me.

  “The regular.”

  She gives me a skeptical smile. “Wouldn’t it be less syllables to just say ‘a Bud’?”

  I shrug and flash her my best grin. “But then I wouldn’t feel special.”

  She rolls her eyes and makes a spiraling motion with her index finger near her ear. “You’re special all right.”

  She turns for the bar and Deanna nudges her shoulder into mine. “Is there anyone you don’t know?”

  “In this town?” I shake my head. “Probably not.”

  “Listen, Marcus.” She leans back in her seat as one long fingernail traces circles on the tabletop. “I know there are hard feelings about the job.”

  “There aren’t any hard feelings, really. I just don’t understand why you’d want to live here. No one moves here…” I look around the bar. “Which is why I know everyone.”

  “My grandmother passed away in the spring and someone needed to come and straighten everything out…get her house ready to sell and deal with all her stuff. My mother has MS and travelling is hard for her, my sisters are all married with kids, so I was the logical choice.”

  “So you’re here short term?” I only realize how eager that sounded when she gives me a dubious smile.

  “Probably,” she says. “I’m not sure. I’m kind of falling in love with the place. Her house is amazing.”

  “So, her house might keep you from leaving?” I say with a quirk of my eyebrow. “Because I’m not above arson.”

  She laughs. “I hadn’t been there since I was little. I forgot how it just rambles. I’ve even found a hidden passage to a room behind the fireplace.”

  I feel the brush of Carol’s belly on my shoulder as she squeezes between tables with our drinks. She sets our glasses down on the chipped wooden table. “Anything else I can get you?”

  I look at Deanna as she gives me a little shake of her head as she lifts her wine glass and sips.

  “I think we’re good, Carol. How’s Wyatt holding up?” I ask with a nod at her swollen belly. “Ready for diapers and late night feedings?”

  She laughs. “He damn well better be. I’m hauling this thing around for the first nine months,” she says, grasping her belly. “Told him he gets the second nine.” She gives me a wink and turns for the table next to ours.

  I pick up my beer and lean back in my chair. “When we were kids, we used to tell ghost stories about your house,” I tell Deanna. “The first time you took me there I kept expecting the floorboards to creak in the middle of the night, or closet doors to swing open on their own or whatever.”

  Deanna laughs. “Grandma would have gotten a kick out of knowing that.”

  “It was always so well cared for, but there never seemed to be anyone living there, so we thought it was haunted.” A stone sinks in my gut at the memory of Nate throwing a rock through a window one night just to see what would happen. No lights came on, but when we went back two days later, it was fixed.

  “Grandma lived in that house alone since Grandpa died fifteen years ago. But like I said, Mom is sick. When her MS flares up, she needs a lot of help. Grandma spent weeks at a time in Texas with us, up until a few years ago when she got too old to travel easily. So the house would have been empty a lot.”

  “She must have had someone taking care of it for her.”

  “Gary, her handyman.” Her mouth curls in a wily smile. “Though I always thought he might have been taking care of more than just her house…if you catch my drift.”

  I laugh at the same instant a crash and a yell comes from behind me. I turn in time to hear a slurred, “…don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”

  A man is standing near an overturned bar stool, swaying dangerously. His face is red as he glares Vicky down where she stands behind the bar.

  “You’ve had enough, Bruce,” Vicky says. Her voice is low, but commanding enough that I can hear it over the music. “I’m calling your daughter to come pick you up.”

  He sways again, then grasps the empty barstool next to him as he starts to topple. It does nothing to slow his fall, instead coming down on top of him. And the whole way to the floor, he’s garbling out some protest. All I catch of it is “…Addie…no damn car…” but it’s enough to twist my gut.

  I stand and move toward him, righting the barstools and holding out my hand. And now that I’m closer, there’s no mistaking the face. It’s redder than when I saw him at the hospital, but it’s Addie’s dad for sure.

  “I’ll get him home, Vicky,” I tell her, then bend down and start to haul Bruce up.

  He shoves my hand away. “Don’t need any help from you,” he slurs, rolling off his ass onto his hands and knees. “You’re that fucking pervert.”

  My stomach flips and acid climbs up my throat.

  “Bruce, right?” I say, hoping anyone who might have deciphered his slur will chalk it up to his inebriated state. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

  I reach for him again, but he shakes me off and drags himself up the barstool.

  “Bruce,” Vicky says once he’s up. “Either you let Marcus drive you home or I’m calling your daughter. Either way, you’re leaving.”

  He glares, but I’m not sure his glassy eyes really focus on anything. “You touch my daughter, I’m calling the cops.”

  I lift my hands in surrender, ignoring the coil of...guilt? dread? that tightens in my gut. “I’m only trying to help here.”

  Deanna steps up next to him. “Let us help you, Bruce,” she purrs.

  His attention swings to her and his eyes glaze over, “Maggie?”

  “My name is Deanna,” she says, looping her arm around his waist. “We’re going to get you home, okay?”

  He doesn’t resist as she starts moving him toward th
e door.

  Vicky slaps his keys on the counter. “Green Ford. Out front.”

  “You got an address?” I ask, scooping them up.

  “It’s the brown house with the long front porch on the corner of Hinckley and Main.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Thank you, honey. This is becoming a routine. Bran’s had to call that girl of his four or five times over the last few weeks.” Her eyes go soft. “Feel bad for her.”

  My heart kicks in my chest. “She’s been here?”

  She gives a slow, sad nod. “I paid for a taxi the first few times, but my charity only extends so far.”

  I turn to catch up to Deanna and Bruce, the knot in my gut tightening. I push the door open and Deanna ushers him across the sidewalk to the passenger door of her BMW.

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” I ask, opening it for her.

  She nods. “He’s calm at the moment. Don’t want to shake his tree too much.”

  I help her lower him in then walk to the driver’s side with her. I click the key fob in my hand and the lights flash on a Crown Victoria across the street. “That’s his. Follow me.”

  It’s a short ride across town to Hinckley and Main, and there’s only one brown house on the corner. It’s in the old section of town and these homes are all modest. I grew up only a few blocks from here.

  When I open Deanna’s passenger door, Bruce is out cold. It takes both of us to haul his dead weight up and drag him to the door. I hold him while Deanna rings the bell, and when I hear feet pad up to the door inside, I feel my ribcage contract.

  At the same time as the porch light illuminates, the door swings open, and there she is.

  Addie.

  Her corkscrew curls are smashed on the side of her head that’s not shaved, and her face on that side is pillow creased. She’s in a long, loose white T-shirt and ankle socks, and it’s clear she’s not wearing a bra when her nipples pebble against the chill in the night air. And I can see the outline of blue panties through the thin cotton of her shirt.

  I look away because I definitely shouldn’t be noticing these things.

  “Oh, God,” she says when she sees us.

  She takes Deanna’s place under her father’s right arm and links her arm with mine behind his back. We maneuver through the door into a small family room and settle him onto a recliner. Then Addie’s eyes lock on mine. They’re black in the dim lighting. There’s a second I can’t breathe.

  Because shiner and all, those eyes manage to cut through all my bullshit to the truth of me. I feel like she’s seeing things I don’t even know are inside of me.

  “Where did you find him?” she asks, trepidation thick in her words.

  “Sam Hill,” I say. “Vicky cut him off. He wasn’t happy.”

  Her gaze shifts to Deanna and I’m surprised by the sharp pang in my gut when I see it register on her face that we were at the bar together.

  Deanna extends a hand to Addie. “I’ve seen you at school,” she says. “I’m Deanna Robinson.”

  Addie shakes her hand. “Thanks for bringing him home. Sorry if he ruined your date.”

  Deanna smiles and shoots a glance at me. “It’s fine. There’s plenty of evening left.”

  Addie turns away and moves toward the door just as I’m trying to read her expression. “Well…thanks again,” she says, pulling it open. A clear invitation for us to leave.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Deanna says, following her, “but…how did you hurt your head?”

  Addie looks at me and a chagrinned grimace passes over her face. “I’m sure Marcus will be happy to fill you in.”

  Deanna’s gaze shifts to me and her eyebrows go up in surprise.

  “It was just an accident at the pool.” I turn to Addie. “You’re going to be okay?” I ask with a crook of my thumb at her father.

  She blows out a sad laugh. “It’s not the first time. I’ve got the drill down.”

  I follow Deanna out the door, but something in my gut is screaming at me to stay. My eyes sweep over the bandages on her partially shaved head, the black eye. All the destruction on a face that I’m just now realizing is uniquely beautiful.

  Deanna is already down the porch stairs, but I hesitate as I pass Addie. “You’re sure?” I ask softly.

  Her lips part as if she’s preparing to say something, but then they just stay that way as her eyes search mine. Her breath feathers over my face and causes a rush to ripple under my skin.

  I step back as if stung, trying to decipher what that was. “Okay…so…if you need anything…”

  “I’ve got it,” she says, saving me from my stupid self. “But thanks.”

  It’s only when she flicks a glance at Deanna, who I now see has made her way back up the porch stairs and is watching us, that I remember we’re not alone. I turn and follow Deanna down the stairs without looking back.

  “She’s on your team?” she asks as we lower ourselves into her car.

  I slouch down in my seat and nod as I work to contain my whirring thoughts.

  “I’m assuming, because the bartender was going to call Addie, that there’s no mother?”

  I glance at the house as if it has the answer just as the front yard sprinklers kick on. Addie’s gone from the porch and the windows are dark, so they’re obviously on a timer. From what I can see in the dim streetlights, the grass hasn’t been cut in a while, and the small flower bed near the house is a tangle of weeds. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  “What really happened to her head?”

  I turn and find Deanna’s gaze locked on mine, intense and inquisitive. “Just what I said. She fell and hit her head on a starting block.”

  Her eyes narrow slightly. “So, why does it feel like there’s something you’re both hiding?”

  At her question, an intense, aching need erupts in my chest. I have no idea where it came from or what it means, but I stuff it down before it shows on my face.

  I reach for my seatbelt and click it. “I feel responsible for what happened. I wanted to test her—to find out what she was capable of, so I pushed her while we were swimming laps. I didn’t realize she hadn’t eaten anything. She got dizzy and passed out. Whether she’d eaten or not, I shouldn’t have egged her on like that.” I turn to look at Deanna. “But she’s really good. She could be something special. I don’t think she has any idea how talented she is.”

  She gives a slow nod, apparently satisfied by my explanation, then cranks the ignition. “So, I’ve got a bottle of wine at home that I’ve been meaning to open. You interested in helping me drink it?”

  It feels like there are two wrong answers to that question. No, and I’m possibly feeding her sense that I’m hiding something, which I’m not. Yes, and I’m headed down a road I’m not really wanting to tread with Deanna tonight.

  “My truck’s at Sam Hill. Maybe we should just head back there.”

  She holds me in her gaze for a moment, then nods and pulls away from the curb.

  When we get back to the bar, Deanna heads to the restroom to “freshen up.” I go to the bar.

  “You get him home okay?” Vicky asks.

  “Yeah. No problem. Did Bruce cover his tab?” I ask. The last thing they need if they’re struggling to pay insurance premiums is a running bar tab.

  She shrugs. “He comes in with cash every night. I let him drink until it’s gone.” I must give her a look because she throws a hand in the air. “Hey, the way I see it, if I don’t give him what he wants, he’ll either A) drive the twenty minutes to Crazy Eights over in Jonestown, or B) he’ll buy a bottle at Hank’s Liquors and polish it off on his own. Either one is a worse scenario than drinking here where I can keep an eye on him.”

  She’s right. This way, he’s drinking less and driving only a few blocks.

  Deanna comes out of the restroom and quirks her head at our table. I nod and turn back to Vicky. “Let’s try this again. A glass of your house cabernet and a Bud.”

  She fixes our drinks
and hands them over the bar to me. “On the house, since you barely touched your last ones.”

  “Thanks, Vicky.”

  I take the glasses and head to where Deanna is sitting with her back to me. I set her wine in front of her.

  “So, I feel like I need to check in with you about this whole thing,” I say with a flick of my wrist between us.

  She cocks her head at me in a question. “What ‘whole thing’?”

  “Us,” I say, then take a long swallow off my beer. “I’ve got to find a job, which may end up being in Nebraska for all I know. I’m not really in a place where I’m looking for anything long term.”

  A smile pulls at her painted lips. “And you’re afraid I am.”

  It’s not a question, but I find myself squinting. “I just felt like I needed to be up front here. I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

  “We’re good, Marcus.” She runs a finger around the rim of her wine glass. “I’m not even sure where I’ll be come summer. I don’t see why that should stop us from having a good time while we’re both still into it.”

  “Okay,” I say with a nod. “We’re good.”

  We polish off a few more drinks, and I’m just ordering another round when Brenda walks through the door.

  “Hey, darlin’” I say, holding up my fist for a bump. But when I see who walks in behind her, my blood freezes.

  My ex-best friend Nate is standing there all smug, with his signature dimpled grin.

  I’m out of my chair so fast it topples over. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Just hanging out with a friend,” he says, laying a hand on Brenda’s back.

  My eyes flash to Brenda. “This is your date? Seriously?”

  Nate cuts me a look. “Chill, bro. We’re just getting a beer.”

  I glance at Vicky, who’s watching us intently, then back at Nate. “Don’t call me bro.”

  He shakes his head and his expression goes all wounded. “I get your issues with me, Marcus. Really. What I did to Blaire was a dick move. But that was, like, a century ago. You’ve got to let it go, man. All this hating on me for something I can’t change isn’t healthy.”