by A. S. Teague
I stepped in to stop the ass-kicking about the same time this cute girl came racing around the corner, yelling his name. When she saw me jump in and take on the boys who were two years older than I was and twice as big, she dove in too. I’d never seen a girl fight before, and I think I may have fallen in love with her just a little right then.
As soon as the two chumps realized that a girl was kicking their ass, they took off. Rebecca just stood up and brushed her shorts off, and when she noticed that I was staring at her with my mouth hanging open, she said, “What? Want me to kick your ass too?” Laughing, she walked off, Tripp trailing behind her.
Even at the age of nine, she was beautiful, but any crush I might have had on her quickly disappeared when she actually did kick my ass a couple of days later. It was all in fun, but I realized she was never going to be anything more than the sister I didn’t have when she put me in a headlock for making fun of her doll.
Needless to say, we’ve been friends ever since.
Worry causes me to bark at her. “Just spit it out, Reb. You’ve been acting strange since we got here. It’s something.”
With a deep breath, she begins. “I’m worried about you. You’ve been out partying so much lately. Is there something going on with you?”
The concern on her face would usually warm my heart, but instead, it has the opposite effect. I can’t control the sudden irritation that bubbles up. Here, I was thinking she had cancer or some other terrible thing happening in her life, and really, she just wanted to bitch at me for a few wild nights out.
I snap, “I’m fine. I’m not doing anything I haven’t always done.” I pause before reminding her, “It wasn’t so long ago that you were right beside me every night.” Then I turn my gaze to Tripp.
He’s remained quiet throughout most of the meal. I suspect he’s the one that put her up to this little chat.
“Tripp? What is this? An intervention? Aren’t you supposed to write me a letter telling me how my partying negatively affects you or some shit?” I snipe sarcastically.
“No, this isn’t a fucking intervention, you cocksucker. And how ’bout you don’t be such a dick to my sister. She’s just worried about you.” He shifts his gaze to Rebecca and points a finger at her as his voice gets louder and his face turns red. “I told you not to say anything to him today.”
Rebecca glances around at the other patrons and offers an apologetic smile before turning back and putting a perfectly manicured finger to her lips. Her cheeks are red as well, but unlike Tripp, she’s embarrassed.
Still questioning whose idea this was, I grip the edge of the table in an attempt to calm myself. It makes no sense why I’m so angry at their questioning.
“Mom and Dad are concerned too, Brec,” Rebecca says quietly.
Her words cause me to freeze. The Tolers have always been far better parents than my own, and the thought of worrying them makes my stomach sink.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe I have been a little too reckless lately.
Shaking the doubt off, I level Tripp with a glare. “You’re absolutely right, man. I don’t care about your concerns because they’re ridiculous.” I let out a humorless laugh. “So what that I’ve been going out more? I kill myself in the gym for hours every day. I deserve to have a good time.” I turn my head towards Rebecca. Because Tripp put me on the spot, I might as well take him down with me. “Did you know that Tripp’s out with me every night, too?”
She rolls her eyes, and it’s obvious she doesn’t care. I can see that I’m not going to win this argument. But, I’m unaccustomed to losing anything so the prospect only fuels my anger.
Raising his voice even more, Tripp shouts, “Yeah, I’m out with you every night! But that’s because I don’t want you to end up in jail! Or fucking dead, Breccan. Jesus Christ.” Then he sucks in a deep breath. “Why are you such an asshole? Can’t you see that I’m on your side? I’m always on your side, dude. Someone has to watch out for you, it sure as hell isn’t those other pricks you hang out with. They’re using you. Or are you too stupid to see that? Fuck!” He stands up so quickly that the chair tips over backward and crashes to the ground.
People have started staring. I’m too worked up to give a shit though, so it only makes it worse.
“The fuck is everyone looking at?” I shout.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the manager begin to shuffle over—probably to ask us to leave. No need to bother; I’m done anyway.
After throwing some money on the table, I storm out without another word to my two closest friends. Rebecca shouts my name across the parking lot as I start the engine on my Jag and all but turn it on its side while peeling out. It’s too early in the day to head to a bar, even for me. Hopping on the interstate, I decide to just drive, and it isn’t long before I realize I’m headed towards Connor’s town. It’s when I reach for my phone to see if he ever responded to my text that I realize I left it on the table at the restaurant.
“Son of a bitch!” I shout, banging my fist on the steering wheel.
There’s no way I can go back and show my face now. I only hope that Rebecca or Tripp grabbed it before they left.
“Damn it,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes with my thumb and my forefinger.
I shouldn’t have reacted like that. Reb and Tripp are the only true family I have besides Mark. While my parents may still be actually living, they aren’t worthy of being called family.
After that day behind the gym, I started spending as much time as I could with the Toler family. The crush I had on Rebecca was only part of the reason I spent so much time at their house. But the real reason was because my parents were too busy living their own lives to care about what I was doing. When they did bother to spend any time with me, dear old Mom and Dad spent it criticizing my every move.
What are you wearing?
Why are you hanging out with those kids?
Who asked your opinion?
When are you going to stop getting into so many fights?
I snap out of my trip down memory lane when I pull in front of the little house on Shade Street. After pulling the E-brake, I stare at the front door. I’m not sure why I even came here or what I expect. After a few minutes, I decide to get out. Hell, it can’t hurt to check in and say hi.
I’m heading towards the front door when the blinds on the window move. I’ve almost made it to the porch when the door is thrown open and Connor lunges out.
His face lights up with a wide smile and he asks, “Breccan! Dude, what are you doing here?”
“Hey, kid. I was just in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by and see how you were. I sent you a text but then left my phone somewhere. You busy today?” It’s not exactly the truth, but I don’t think he needs to know that I just made an ass of myself and had a huge fight with my friends.
Pushing the door open and stepping aside, Connor makes a sweeping gesture with his arm and replies, “Mi casa is su casa. Er…something like that. Spanish isn’t my first language.”
I laugh, already feeling ten times better. “So, you got some time for Xbox or what?”
“Hell yeah! I’m not doing anything today. Mom’s not here, so it’s just me and Aunt Sid.” He rolls his eyes. “She’s been cleaning and baking all morning. I’ve been hiding in my room so she doesn’t give me chores from her list of things to do today. Let me go up and turn off my TV and I’ll be right back.” He closes the door behind me and walks to the stairs.
He’s moving slower than the last time I saw him. Maybe coming today was a bad idea.
“Dude, I can’t believe you’re here. Again. Freaking awesome!” Connor shouts at me from halfway up the stairs.
Then again…maybe not.
I wander towards the living room and notice that the house smells delicious. My stomach growls, and I lament the fact that I’m in the middle of training and can’t eat anything that actually tastes good.
My nose guides me in the direction of the mouthwatering smells, and as I round th
e corner to head into the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks.
With her back to me, Sidney is washing dishes and singing along to whatever is playing in her earbuds. She’s terribly out of tune, but she obviously doesn’t care. Swaying her hips from side to side, she’s lost in the music, and the bottom of her ass cheeks hang out of her shorts. Her T-shirt is so faded that it’s probably closer to gray than black, and there’s something sexy about the way her red strands are falling out of the messy bun piled on top of her head.
I lean my hip against the doorjamb and enjoy the show.
Mid-dance, she turns towards me, but her eyes are closed. The way her tits are bouncing with every thrust of her hips is sexy as hell. Just as I reach down to adjust myself, she opens her eyes while standing on her toes to put a plate away and sees me.
“Argh!” she shouts, dropping the plate. “What the fuck!”
The plate lands on the counter and splinters into a million pieces.
“Fuck!” she shouts again.
When she looks back up, the surprise on her face has been replaced with a smirk.
“Are you touching yourself? While staring at my ass?”
Fuck. Busted.
Suddenly, it’s my face registering shock.
I quickly recover enough to retort, “You’d like that, huh?”
Rolling her eyes, she starts collecting broken pieces of plate. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but since it’s your fault I dropped this plate in the first place, the least you could do is help me clean it up. There’s a broom in the laundry room over there.” She points towards a closed door. “Grab it and sweep this stuff up.”
I do as I’ve been told. “I was just in the area and thought I would stop by and see if Connor wanted to play some Xbox.” I don’t mention the fight that sent me in this direction or the fact that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.
I do make a mental note to buy Tripp a bottle of Patron later though. If he hadn’t pissed me off, I would have missed seeing Sidney’s performance.
“What were you listening to?” I ask, surprising even myself by being genuinely interested in her response. I didn’t recognize the lyrics she was singing, but there was one line that caught my attention, and I’m curious to know the song.
Her cheeks pink before she replies, “’Hurt’ by Johnny Cash. Anyway, how long were you standing there?”
Johnny Cash? Who is this woman? I figured that it had to be something straight off the pop charts.
I grin and playfully nudge her arm. “Long enough to know that you can’t carry a tune for shit.” I don’t want her to be embarrassed. Even though she sounded like a dying cat, I liked seeing her lost in the song.
While she was belting the lyrics out, the emotion on her face was beautiful. I’ve never taken an interest in a woman before, and I can’t figure out what it is about her that has me so intrigued. Deciding to worry about that later, I push the thought to the back of my mind.
“You don’t look like a Cash fan,” I say, taking a step toward her.
“Yeah, well, neither do you.” She shrugs, thankfully not backing away.
Thoroughly enjoying our banter, I smirk. “Oh yeah? What do I look like, then?” I toss her a smile that’s guaranteed to melt her panties, but unfortunately, she seems completely immune.
“Hmmm.” She taps her finger to her mouth.
Unable to stop myself, I cup her jaw, grazing her bottom lip with my thumb.
Her mouth parts in surprise, and she lets out a quick breath before saying quietly, “Hip hop.”
Confused, I still my hand but remain focused on her lips. “What?”
“You…um…you look like you listen to hip hop—maybe at a club,” she explains nervously.
Before I can respond—or do something equally as stupid as replace my thumb with my mouth—Connor carries a notebook into the room.
He pauses in the doorway, swinging his head back and forth between us. “Uh, Aunt Sid?”
Stepping out of my reach, she tears her gaze away from me. “Yeah, honey? You feeling okay?”
He grins. “Yeah. I’m fine. But, uh, your cookies aren’t.” He still has a knowing smile on his face as he flicks his gaze to the oven.
“Shit!” she shouts before grabbing an oven mitt and yanking open the oven door. Smoke rolls out as she pulls out a tray of cookies that could be used as hockey pucks. “Dammit. I was looking forward to those,” she grumbles, shaking them into the trash and then throwing the tray into the sink. Huffing, she waves her hands at us, shooing us out of the kitchen. “You came to play Xbox with Connor, so go. Let me finish burning this batch of cookies.”
I keep my eyes locked on Sidney while Connor drags me from the kitchen.
When she disappears from my sight, I glance at Connor and rub my hands together. “All right, man. You ready to get your ass kicked in Madden again?” I settle on the couch next to the kid, but my mind is still in the kitchen with his aunt.
I’m confused by the attraction I have to her. Why? I have no idea. But I still can’t shake the nagging feeling that I know her from somewhere.
She’s beautiful, yeah, but she’s not the type I usually go for. It’s obvious she’s attracted to me, but she isn’t throwing herself at me like most women do. Maybe it’s her lack of interest in me that’s piqued my curiosity. I’m always up for a game of chase, but I have a feeling that, once I catch her, she isn’t the type of woman who will be easily cast aside. No, Sidney O’Neil is the kind of woman you want in your bed every night, not just once.
“No way, dude. I’ve been practicing. I’m gonna beat you today,” Connor says, passing me a controller.
He’s probably right, because with the visual of Sidney dancing to Johnny Cash playing on a loop in my head, there’s no way I will be able to concentrate on video games.
Breccan’s showing up unannounced was definitely a surprise. But it wasn’t the most surprising part of that day. He still doesn’t seem to remember me, and that hurts.
After I ran out of the house like my hair was on fire, I did a little bit of research on him and discovered that Breccan Carlisle is a bit of a playboy. I tried not to let it bother me, but it was obvious I would have just been another notch in his belt. I told myself that I was lucky the night had ended abruptly, but even the knowledge of his partying ways doesn’t stop me from thinking about him around the clock.
So, when I saw him standing in the doorway, practically groping himself while staring at my ass, I was freaked. I tried to cover my embarrassment with sarcasm and by taking control of the situation.
Then he touched me, and with that simple swipe of his thumb, my control was gone. My lip tingled from the contact for what seemed like hours afterward. I stayed in the kitchen, dazed, while he lost game after game to Connor. Occasionally, I would sneak a peek at him in the living room and catch his eyes on me. And, each time, I prayed that he recognized me.
Get over it. He doesn’t know who you are.
Breccan finally throws up the white flag of surrender a couple of hours later, begging for Connor to take mercy upon him. I’m not sure why Brec was letting him win, but whatever the reason, the thrill of victory is written all over Connor’s face.
Sitting at the table in the kitchen, I am making a list of everything I need to get done tomorrow when Breccan asks Connor, “Hey, kid. What’re you writing in that notebook?”
Stiffening, I turn toward the living room just in time to see Connor pause.
“It’s my bucket list notebook,” he responds hesitantly.
Breccan wrinkles his brow and repeats, “Bucket list?” He shifts on the couch to give Connor his full attention.
Connor looks uncomfortable, and I am tempted to interject until a shy smile appears.
“Yeah. When I found out that I was sick, I decided to make a bucket list. You know, all the things I want to do before I die. Aunt Sid’s been trying to help me check some of the things off. Mom too. When she’s home. They keep telling
me I’m gonna have fifty years to finish it. But, ya know, better safe than sorry.”
“A bucket list, huh? What kind of stuff you got on there? You want to show me?” Breccan crosses his legs, ankle to knee, then tips his head to the side. “Or is it personal?” He squeezes Connor’s shoulder in encouragement.
Even with a bit of doubt on his face, Connor nods once. Then he opens the notebook and hands it over. Breccan looks over the list, and for a few minutes, the room remains completely silent, save for Connor’s shallow breaths. I make a mental note to talk to the doctor about his breathing at our next appointment.
Actually, let me write that down now.
I pull a blank sheet of paper out and label it Questions for Dr. Barnes before making a quick note of the way Connor’s breathing sounds. Short breaths, rapid. Occasionally a long exhale.
I’m still jotting my concerns down when Breccan speaks.
“So, uh, I can help with some of these,” he says.
My head snaps up.
Help? He wants to help?
I’m shocked—and instantly suspicious.
“Really?” Connor squeaks. His face splits into a wide smile, revealing the dimples I haven’t seen in so long.
My heart pounds. Why would Breccan want to help Connor check items off his bucket list? He did his part by coming to visit last Saturday. Does he need more publicity? Is he using Connor to make himself look good? What if he has a hidden agenda?
A million irrational concerns flood my mind. I know I’m making a mountain out of a mole hill, but I can’t stop my thoughts from spinning out of control. I remind myself that Breccan hasn’t asked for anything in return for his visit. Yet, no matter how many positives I come up with, I just keep coming back to the fear that Breccan is going to hurt Connor.
The same way he hurt you.
I can’t let that happen to him. He’s already been through so much, and if he doesn’t get a kidney, there’s so much more he’ll face. Even though I fully believe he’ll come out of this okay, I can’t help but worry about the worst-case scenario.