Unscrewed

by Ren Alexander

  But more importantly, it’s nobody’s fucking business what we’re doing.

  Amos says, “You’ll find that as an attorney, you need to have good communication and analytical skills. You have those. But you also have to have good judgment. Yours needs some work. And just like you don’t bring a knife to a gunfight, you don’t show up to court unprepared.”

  “Okay?” Crazy, drunk bastard. His rambling is driving me up the fucking wall, and I hate the scenic route. “What’s your point?” Shit. Maybe if I slam my head off his desk, it’ll serve as my closing argument.

  “You were devastated about your sister’s death, which is understandable. So much so, you didn’t go to her wake. Val, Nico, Hadley, and I were there. Hadley was worried about you, and she wanted to be with you but didn’t know where you had gone. She was in tears. When Nico and I left the table for a few minutes, I overheard Hadley admit to Val that she loved you.”

  “So? She tells me that all the time.” Just with less feeling. Studying my navy Ralph Lauren pants, I blandly repeat, “We’re friends.” Propping my elbow on the arm of my chair, I study my fingers as he watches me. I see him in my peripheral, so I make it a point to be blasé about it even as my heart beats faster than I can beat my dick.

  “The way she said it, I didn’t get that impression at all. That’s why I’m worried about you, Rod. I know she’s in love with you.”

  What. The. Fuck?

  Losing control of myself, I drop my arm. I fidget. I cross my leg over my knee, but then restlessly kick it out in front of me. I scratch my head. I look at the wall. If this is what a stroke feels like, I’m in full swing.

  CHAPTER 3

  I did not expect that.

  Instead of calling 911, the prick sits back, watching me. I struggle for neutrality, but it’s hard when I’ve been blindsided by motherfucking Amos Vaughn of all people.

  How?

  What in the hell did I miss? She didn’t want me. She didn’t have to say those exact words because she sure said so in her actions. I’m the one who didn’t want a one-night stand. Yeah, me. The guy who hasn’t had sex, if you can call it that, since my high school graduation night and I’m 28-fucking-years old. I have my reasons. I’m picky and principled.

  Shit. That’s what I tell myself.

  If I hadn’t been so honorable in the fight for Hadley’s happiness and well-being, she might’ve picked me...eventually. Maybe. Unless she would’ve rather screwed Fred, our mailman, because in the pursuit of her heart, I placed third, next to a guy who still ranks above me even after getting himself killed. Second to her daredevil, Hadley loved the dead guy more than she ever could me. Always the shitty reality check I need but never want to cash.

  As a rule, I’ve always been the one on the sidelines, waiting for my turn at bat, so to say. But I didn’t want to be another pinch-hitter. I wanted to score the grand slam of Hadley’s life.

  Goddamn it. I hate fucking sports metaphors.

  “Rod?”

  Finally able to blink again, I avoid looking at him as I force a laugh. “Good one, Amos. And by the way, I hear you and Gloria are engaged. Just let me know where you two are registered. I want to send something super special.” I tease, but it falls flat. I can barely breathe right now.

  Under his breath, he mutters, “Shit.”

  Impulsively, I stand, almost falling over as I do. “Uh, you know, I probably should get back to work.”

  “On what? I took most of it away from you. Sit.”

  “I can’t.” Instead of leaving, I walk to the window overlooking the interstate. The sky is an ink color, no doubt making the Kanawha Canal resemble Willy Wonka’s chocolate river.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

  How am I supposed to respond to that? I don’t want him to know I had no idea or that it affects me in any way. Like he said, I shouldn’t incriminate myself.

  From the window, I watch cars take the on-ramp to I-64, and I give a half-assed, one-shouldered shrug. It’s the only response I can muster.

  “Rod... I...”

  I laugh again, shocked still, watching my mouth move in my sunlit reflection, mocking myself. “I guess that’s her cross to bear.”

  Before he can say anything, I turn from the window. I have to maintain the façade, or I’ll lose my shit in front of my boss. “I, uh... I forgot I promised Val I’d help her with some research. Are we done here?”

  He stares at me, so I look to the door, burning a hole into it. Squeaking in his chair, I hear him sit back with a sigh. I see through his lie, too, because I suck at not incriminating myself. “You’re not hungry? I have all this food.”

  “No, thanks. Just throw it on my desk. I’ll grab some later.” With that and without permission, I leave his office anyway, needing air.

  Leaving my office after his, I hang a left and nearly run into Betsy. God Almighty. Her odor just about knocks me over before she does. Even though she has dogs, she smells of cat food and cheap CVS hand lotion. “Whoa, there, partner!” She laughs as she puts her hands on my arms. “There a fire?”

  I mumble, “Sorry,” and try to leave while not looking directly into her eyes, for fear of burning my retinas, but she keeps her hands on my arms, massaging her fingers into me. I’m nauseous. Her pageboy blonde hair is gruesome. Whoever cuts her hair should be stabbed to death with their own scissors and dumped along an isolated highway for vultures to feed on, not that I’ve thought about it. She’s 50-something who thinks she’s 20-something but looks 60-something. And not in a charming way.

  Instead of moving, she blocks my path, still holding onto my arms. “When’d you get these guns, Rod? You’ve been hiding these somewhere, for sure.” Like I just siphoned a mouthful of gasoline and swallowed—wishing I really were on my way to a quick death—I make a face, wrenching from her grip and sidestepping her. Note to self: Bring a can of gasoline to work, either for dousing or swallowing.

  As I walk away from her, she yells, “I hope you’re heading out to see your daughter!” What a cuntface.

  I blow past the reception desk, where Patrice asks, “Is it time to leave already?”

  “No. Be back.”

  “You want me to tell Haley?” As my personal shit seems to be common knowledge, it’s also known that our new receptionist is denser than a lead coffin and no doubt couldn’t write dialogue for porn. But just like my other coworkers, Patrice also thinks Hadley—Haley, according to Patrice—and I are screwing. And we’re married. Oh, Christ.

  “Nope. Divorced. Remember?”

  She continues to ramble, but seeing our mailman, Fred, exiting the elevator, I take the opportunity to nearly knock him over, making my escape.

  In the downstairs lobby, I start to head for my go-to spot, the cemetery across the street, but since Hadley’s office overlooks it, I instead opt to sit in my truck since to see me, she’d have to go to Morgan’s old office to do it.

  I weave through the parking lot to my gray truck. It was my grandfather’s and barely used. When he died, my dad was going to sell it, but that’s when my car gave me the finger. A truck isn’t my style, but I can’t really complain. Now that I have a kid, a car payment is the last shit I need.

  Stopping at the driver’s side door, I notice the dent I had kicked into the fender, forcing me again to remember that night with Hadley in the parking lot. I hadn’t taken my decision to not sleep with her any easier than she had.

  Shutting the door and settling into the driver’s seat, I sigh as the heaviness of what Amos told me sits on me like a stoned elephant.

  Hadley’s in love with me?

  No. She can’t be. Amos had to have heard it wrong, or Hadley was drunk. With her boss. At my sister’s wake. Sounds legit.

  It’s always been the other way around with Hadley. When we met, she was taken. I respected that. At first, I had no problem being like a brother to her. But the problem was the more I got to know her, the more I found myself in serious shit. It wasn’t long before I started to ha
ve very unbrotherlike feelings for her. Much like her husband claims of when he met her, I was also fucking helpless. But unlike how he didn’t have to, I had to fight it like hell. I had to because there was no happy ending—metaphorically and factually—in it for me. I made every effort imaginable to just be Hadley Beckett’s friend. Fuck me. I see how well that turned out.

  Either chance I had with her, I couldn’t go through sleeping with her. I do have principles. In the parking lot, I had wanted us to be a couple first before we slept together. We already had the tension, but aside from the cold showers I’m already used to, I wanted the same things he got to experience with Hadley. I’ve never had that option with any woman. My first time was thrust upon me, to say the fucking least. I wanted it to be different with Hadley. Was that too much to ask for a guy who’s hornier than I-95 at rush hour?

  But things changed. In the hotel room, I knew Hadley was still broken, just as I was, but it soon was in my face—or maybe I thought wrong—that the only one who could fix Hadley was her daredevil. If she didn’t want me, then he’s the only man I could accept losing to. He had her first.

  Knowing what she needed, I went to Baltimore and dragged his sorry ass back to Richmond. I voluntarily delivered him to Hadley, tied up in a fucking shinier bow than the raging fires of hell itself. Just the look on both of their faces, even if it triggered a panic attack for Hadley, I knew it was over for me, as it should’ve been. They reconnected. I had succeeded in giving her away against my will. In more ways than one. I gave up a losing battle. He won when I forfeited. But I did it all for her.

  I did win a small parting gift. Bringing him back to Hadley gives me the upper hand. He fucking owes me. He has zero right to complain when Hadley and I hang out, giving me my fix. And he knows that, even if it drives him motherfucking insane. I own that shit. Truth be told, he should be licking my dirty boots clean for the rest of my life for reuniting them.

  In any case, I wasn’t lying to Crick. I do get royally fucked. All day. Every day. And it’s all my own doing. I don’t even get any pleasure from the daily fucking, still having to resort to fucking myself.

  Pushing back against the seat, I dig into my pocket, pulling out the folded notebook paper with Gregster scrolled across it. I’ve read it a thousand times and have it memorized, but I still reread it once a day. Before my sister Eden died, she wrote letters to people, telling them goodbye. She died in her sleep from cystic fibrosis three days short of her 31st birthday. Not only did I get a note, but she also left me her diary, which I haven’t been able to get past the first entry.

  Unfolding the paper, I inhale, seeing the familiar handwriting.

  Dear Gregster,

  You’ll never believe where I am right now.

  Please don’t be mad at me. You know this was going to happen. Tonight, I watched you and Hadley dance at Aunt Amy’s bar. Mostly, I was watching you. My baby brother is all grown up. It’s great to see. That’s all I ever hoped for you to have. A normal life. One where you didn’t have to take care of your sick big sister. But you never treated me any differently because of CF. I felt normal because of you. When everyone else treated me like a fragile invalid, you were the one telling me to fuck off. I’ll be eternally grateful for that.

  I never told you while I was alive, but you’re a man of integrity and heart, which I had no hand in. That’s all you. I’m fucking proud of you.

  Before I go, I want to tell you that I’m leaving you my diary. It’s not my real one. I gave that to Mom. It’s boring. This one is just for you. I’ve been writing in it for a while, sharing my thoughts and giving you advice. Take it or leave it. You’re the only one who can decide what’s best for your life. Right? You’ll find it in my underwear drawer. Enjoy that treasure hunt.

  Finally, I want to say thank you, Greg. I know you don’t want to hear that right now. But the one way you will honor me is if you live your life. Find the one you’re supposed to be with and never let him—just kidding—her go. I know she’s out there. Probably right in front of your face, dumbass. Don’t be alone for the rest of your life like I was. Life is too short. YOLO. I promise.

  Just open your damn eyes and don’t waste another breath.

  I love you, Gregster.

  Don’t tell anyone that or I will haunt you. I promise that, too.

  E

  Blowing a sigh, it ruffles the paper in my hands. Someone must’ve crimped Eden’s oxygen hose when she wrote this, just as Amos was high when he heard Hadley’s declaration.

  How do I do this? I lost my two best friends. One to death. One to marriage. Yeah, Hadley and I are still friends, but it’s rougher than getting my balls waxed—that’s something I’ll never do again. She made her choice, and it wasn’t me.

  I thought it would get easier, knowing she’s off limits again, but it’s not. All I want is to be close to her. That close. Since the day we met, I loved her as a friend, but then it started changing soon after. I don’t know when it happened, but it did. I fell in love with Hadley. The real, painful, horrifying thing. I only started to realize how serious it was after her boyfriend left her. But it’s not like I’m the only one to love her. I’m just the last one she wanted.

  You know how when something is forbidden, the more you want it? Yeah. I’m that guy stuck in a revolving door of rejection with my married best friend. And I still want her. More than ever. It’s do or die, and I’m careening straight into hell. And I don’t know how to cope with losing her, with or without my help in it.

  I have got to get a fucking grip. Hadley’s not mine, but she’s a habit I can’t shake, being like a recovering alcoholic at Oktoberfest. Even if I can’t physically have her, the fantasy and her proximity are enough of a contact high.

  They have to be enough.

  Folding up the paper, I return it to my pocket and drag myself back to work. Thankfully, Amos isn’t in his office, but a shitload of food is now on my desk.

  Sitting down, I shove the food aside and try to sort out my day. Since my big case is now history, I only have menial shit to do. As good as it is to have no work to do, it also allows my mind to go off on a tangent.

  Lost in my thoughts and work, I don’t notice the knock on my door until it’s more persistent. Before I look up, Hadley is already at my desk. She says, “Look at all this food. Did you get a promotion or something?” Her eyes sparkle with laughter, and I have to look back to my computer screen. If Amos is right, when did her feelings for me change? I don’t know what to believe. How do I even find out the truth? What would I do with it if it were true? She’s married. There’s no way she’d divorce him for me. I do know that much. It boils down to me still being the designated unfucked, fucking best friend, which is back to where I was this morning before Amos opened his colossal trap.

  Pretending to be preoccupied, I shrug. “Yeah. Amos got carried away.”

  “I guess you’re not hungry for lunch, then?”

  I immediately look at her, crooking an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?” I nod her way. “Pull up a chair.”

  Her ponytail flips from her shoulder to her back. “Perly’s? I haven’t heard of them.”

  I snort, smiling at her even if she doesn’t look at me. “It’s a Jewish deli. Amos. Existential crisis.”

  Hadley giggles and I shift from my computer, pushing off my L-shaped desk, rolling my chair closer to her, so we’re eye-to-eye across the other half of my desk. I watch as she peeks into the bags, checking out their contents. “What this?”

  “Knish. It’s ground meat, mashed potato, sauerkraut, and some other shit.”

  She rolls her eyes with more giggles. “Shit. Sounds appetizing.”

  I laugh, shaking my head as I reach for the remainder of my Hirschfeld. “It’s good. Try it.”

  Hadley takes a small bite, and I can’t stop watching her mouth moving, remembering when it was on mine, kissing me like she kisses him. Even though it happened last fall, I still feel her. It’s sweet torture.

 
; Between chews, she smiles. “It is good.”

  I grin, rolling my eyes. “Told you, Hadders.”

  She slightly sticks out her tongue at me. Fuck.

  “What?” Hadley asks, forcing me to stop staring.

  I look at my sandwich, licking away the unforgettable taste of her on my lip. If she only knew just how much of her I tasted. How I sucked her pussy from my thumb and knuckles the whole way home after the parking lot. “Uh, nothing.”

  “You sure? Is it earlier?” Hadley looks over her shoulder, swinging her ponytail, checking the two doorways in the room. I take the opportunity to roam over her body, undressing her. I didn’t see her naked and can’t imagine what that would’ve fucking done to me. Just imagining her naked when I’m alone, I erupt more than Mount Kilauea.

  Turning back to me, she asks, “Where’s Amos?”

  I take a bite of my sandwich to hide the fact I was mentally coming over her boobs, yet not far from that actually occurring if I stand up. To ensure she doesn’t think she got to me, I talk with my mouth full. “Fuck if I know where that troll went.”

  Hadley makes a face, watching me grin, chewing with my mouth open. “Gross.” But her smile creeps back onto her face as she finishes her knish.

  Swallowing, I ask, “You excited about our last game Saturday?”

  She picks up a napkin, dabbing at her mouth. I have to stare at my mangled sandwich, or my agonizing hard-on will send me to the hospital. Hadley replies, “Yeah. I’ve only played two games this season. At least I’ll get to play the last one.”

  “You’re the one who got knocked up.” I had offered to do the knocking after her breakup. Something else she didn’t want from me. I had suggested it as friends and with a turkey baster, claiming it’d be weird to sleep with her. Not true. I didn’t want to get in deep with her if she didn’t want me that way. I was willing to let her take advantage of my swimmers but not the rest of me. But since then, I’ve had a change of heart. A change in pain tolerance. I want her to use me for sex. Maybe it’d dull the ache.