by Ashley Logan
"Technically, that's just borrowing," Damon corrects me.
"That's what she said."
"Let me get this straight," Bruno says, looking up at the ceiling as he ponders. "She got you reaching rehab goals ahead of schedule, lifted your mood with outlandish occupational therapy by including you in her devious plots and she bought you ice cream?" Holding up a hand, Bruno keeps me silent. "Only you?"
"Only him," Damon confirms with a grin.
"Well okay," Bruno says nodding. "This girl, cute?"
"As a button," Damon answers, earning himself a glare from yours truly.
Lifting his long legs to rest on a spare chair as he reclines, Bruno surveys me once again. "You saw her today."
Shifting uncomfortably in my chair, I avoid his probing gaze and look at the stage. I feel more exposed than the dancers that bare themselves upon it. I hate the way my friends know me so well just by looking at me. It means they've spent too many hours doing it and that makes me sick with guilt.
"I went to see where they decided to hang my painting," I mumble, twisting my beer in circles. "It's outside Neuro. I couldn't decide if they'd done that because they thought people with messed up heads would appreciate it."
"Did she offer any insight?"
I shake my head. "I don't know what she thought about it. I was talking to her son."
"Wait. What?" Bruno says, dropping his legs to the floor and sitting erect.
"What else were you doing on those van rides?" Damon asks with a laugh.
"He's not mine, asshat. I'm pretty sure he's the product of Doc. Sodermann."
"That asshole?"
"Hmm. I'm not sure, but... just something she said..." Running a hand over my face, I finish my beer and start another. Resting the opening against my lips, I think about her kiss. It sure was some thank you, just for punching a jerk that totally deserved it. I guess Stace thought he deserved it too. Son of a bitch must've hurt her somehow.
Frowning at the fist clenched on my armrest, I spread my fingers and then tuck it out of sight as I take another drink.
"Okay," Damon says slowly, eying my side where I've tucked my re-furled fist. "So you still hate the doctor. But you saw Stacey, and you met her kid." Damon taps his hairy chin as he forms his analysis. "You like the kid."
"He's okay, I guess," I admit with a small smile. "I like his mom. I was thinking I'd give her a call sometime. Maybe. I don't know." Shaking my head, I wheel away from the table. "Maybe not. It's stupid. I mean... It's stupid, right?"
"Dude, I told you to call her months ago," Damon says irritably. "What's stupid about it? Did she see you and call you names?"
Blushing a little as I circle the table, I keep my head low. "Not exactly. She took a moment to warm to me, but then..." I give my wheels a twist and spin on the spot.
"Oh man. She kissed you?" Bruno says, his eyes wide. "What the fuck did you do on those van rides?"
"Nothing. She said it was a 'thank you' kiss. She said I shouldn't take it the wrong way." I stop my wheels abruptly. "What's the wrong way? Oh fuck. I am being stupid, aren't I?" Scowling, I wheel myself back to the table and open another beer. "I'm definitely not calling her."
Bruno's hand curls around the neck of my beer and he removes it from my grasp. "Easy. We still have to make it upstairs yet. Stop reacting so sensitively. Who knows what the 'wrong way' is?" he asks, waiting for an answer.
"Stacey?"
He nods. "Perhaps you should talk to her before you get all crazy."
And there it is. Two counter-intuitive ideas in one suggestion.
"I'm not calling her. She won't want crazy Bradley Jenkins anywhere near her and her son. It doesn't matter that I'm on the right medication now; it's the fact that I'm even on it in the first place."
"Still over-reacting," Damon says with a sigh. "She's known your crazy, crippled ass since it was first diagnosed as crazy and crippled; and she kissed you today. Regardless of whatever else you're taking away from this interaction, let me know one thing - have you ever heard of a woman voluntarily kissing a man that freaked her the hell out? No. You haven't," he says, cutting me off before I can object. "Thank-you or otherwise, that girl kissed you because she wanted to. She could have just said 'Thanks Jenkins. Nice job.' She didn't. She kissed you. Deal with it. Now let's take this party upstairs before you get too messy to haul. A dead weight is so much harder to move. Although," he adds with a mischievous glint in his eye, "It is more fun to 'accidentally' drop you along the way."
"Fuck you. I'll pull myself upstairs. And I'm not calling her."
Bruno and Damon exchange frustrated grunts and grimaces.
"Yet," I add. "I've got some shit to sort out before I go anywhere near her. I want to put my best foot forward - so to speak. You know what I mean. Obviously both of my feet are fucking useless."
"They have some uses," Damon says, collecting empty bottles under his wing. "Natural-drag... Doorstops... Paperweights... Maintaining the shape of your shoes."
"I'll maintain the shape of your ass in a minute, Shermansky. Put your brain to more productive use would you? I need a plan, and some help to execute it if I'm ever going to be considered man enough for that woman."
CHAPTER TWO
STACE
"Mo-om. You're doing it again."
Blinking Ry back into focus, I wipe the corner of his mouth. The ice-cream has mixed with the little smear of chocolate, making it easier to remove from his face. "Doing what babe?"
"Staring. At nothing," he adds.
My sundae is more liquid than lumps, and I quickly spoon the slop down to catch up to Ry, who's about to lift his bowl and lick it clean. Reaching out my hand to stop him, I shake my head. "Manners, young man. You're in public."
Pressing his lips together, he eyes my bowl.
"You want more?" I ask tilting it towards him. His nose wrinkles at the plain vanilla. Too boring for Ry. I get it.
"Can I get a different flavor?" he asks, putting on his cutest begging face.
"That depends. Will you eat your dinner?"
"Yes." His smile grows.
"I'm serious, Ry. If Granny knows we filled up on ice-cream, she's going to holler at me. Either you have room to pack in whatever she puts on the table, or there's no deal."
Sadly, Ry considers my question more carefully than most five year olds would. He's well aware of my mother's power games. I've got to get us out of her house before he starts believing it's normal. Ry sighs at the same time as I do.
"I could fit a small sundae, but probably not another big one."
"Wise choice," I say with a smile as I fish out a note and hand it to him. "You can order it. Make sure you use your manners."
His eyes go wide at the responsibility and he makes his way to the counter with a little swagger in his step.
Checking the time on my phone, I sink a bit lower into our booth. Another sundae will delay us from going home for about a quarter hour. Then we can walk the long way to the bus stop, maybe miss the bus, giving us another hour or so of freedom.
Imagined freedom.
If only I were free. Leaning back against the red faux-leather, I let my mind wander again to what I might do with less restrictions.
My thoughts return to Brad Jenkins, with his deep blue eyes, blond curls cropped not-too-short and that chin dimple embedded in a tasty frame. I am such a sucker for a solid jaw. And solid arms. My old partner in crime has buffed up even more, and it suits him. What those arms could do, I can only imagine. His legs might not work, but he's made the rest of his body make up for it.
I shouldn't have kissed him, but what's a sexually repressed girl to do when her long-time crush appears out of nowhere? Seeing him took me back to the brief fun of my youth.
My rebellious time in the real world was short-lived, but those glory days are what get me through the tough times. The times when life sits its fat ass on me, crushing the last of my willpower.
Ry returns to the table and after one look at me, his sm
ile fades. Guilt takes over, and I give him an apologetic smile as I force myself into a more upbeat mood.
"Anything else you want to do today? We've got some time up our sleeves." Every minute we spend out of the house is a minute less as a target.
"Can we go to the park?"
"Sure," I reply as his sundae is delivered. "Probably a good idea to burn off all this sugar you're consuming." Best not to take that home to unleash on Granny. It'll earn me an earful and a half, and heaven help me if he doesn't go to bed on time.
Reaching across, I sweep Ry's sandy blond hair out of his eyes. That'll be the next thing. Give that boy a haircut before people start thinking he's a girl.
I don't give a flying shit what other people will think, I like his wavy locks - of course I can't say this to Mom without fear of extensive backlash. I'll probably end up cutting his hair just to shut her up.
Reminding myself that she has in fact been very generous and accommodating, given the situation, I take a deep breath. The extra shifts I just talked Freda into giving me should help my savings build more quickly, and once summer's over and Ry starts kindergarten, childcare will be more affordable. Just a little longer, and we'll be free to live on our own. The years have been long, but the end is in sight.
"Ready," Ry says, pushing his mini-sundae cup away. "Let's go play."
Wiping his face with a napkin, I laugh. "Now you're ready." Pushing out of the booth, I hold out my hand. Taking it, he pulls me to the door.
"CAN I GET A SKATEBOARD?"
Ry's voice pulls me out of my daydream. I was kissing Bradley Jenkins again as I straddled him in his wheelchair and now my face is warming at my inappropriately-timed dirty thoughts.
Who fantasizes at the children's playground? Ew. Gross pedo thought.
"What's that babe?" I ask, sighing at myself.
"Can I get a skateboard?" he asks again, pointing to the older kids at the skating section of the park.
Worrying my bottom lip, I look him over. "You're a little young yet."
"No I'm not!" he argues, pointing to a girl about his age, already quite proficient at rolling over the concrete humps without issue.
"I'll think about it."
"That means no," he says, turning his back to me and plonking himself cross-legged to watch the skateboarders on the half-pipe. Sighing, he picks up a small stone, rolling it between his fingers as he follows the boarders intently.
"It doesn't mean no," I say calmly. "It means I need to think about it. You'd need a board, and safety gear and someone to teach you. That's not something I can organize in an instant, so I'll have to think about how best to do it. Ry? Are you listening?"
"Yeah," he says, tossing a stone away. "I'm going to go swing," he says, leaving me to fall against the back of the bench with a sigh.
"So is he mine?"
The voice instantly hits a nerve and I spin around to find Dex Sodermann standing behind me. Too stunned to speak, I just glare at him.
"I'm just here with my sister's kids," he says, jabbing I thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the slide. "I saw you sitting here and thought I'd come over. How are you Stacey?"
Standing up, I glance at Ry and fold my arms over my chest. "I was just leaving, actually."
"That's a shame," he says, resting a hand on my shoulder.
His touch sickens me and I tilt away, causing his hand to drop off. I can't believe I used to like the guy.
"Don't touch me."
"Oh," he says, putting his hands in his pockets and looking around. "Just thought I'd -"
"Thought you'd what?" I ask, staring him down as I step past him. "Leave me alone, asshole."
"I will if you tell me the truth. Is he mine?"
"Does he look half asshole to you? You think you were the only one who was screwing around back then? He's mine, and he always will be. Go make your own. With someone else," I add, to solidify my position on the matter.
"You know, I'd help raise him, if you'd just admit it. I could make your life easier," he says, following me as I head for the swings.
Turning, I stop him in his tracks. "What is this? You want some sort of insta-family or something? In what damned universe would I want my son to be subjected to a morally defunct human? Leave us alone." Storming towards the swings, I catch Ry as he comes flying off. "Come on, Ry. We're going."
Looking past me to Dex, Ry frowns. "Why is he here again?"
"Because he's an ass. Let's go."
"I'd be more careful with him, if I were you," Dex calls after us as I pull Ryan back towards the sidewalk. "You slip up and I could make your life very difficult."
Gritting my teeth, I hurry us down the street, half-dragging Ry to help him keep up.
"I told you not to fly off the swings like that," I scold as we head for the bus stop.
"But it's fun," he whines.
"Fun can be dangerous. What if you'd been hurt?" My mind runs through Dex's constant threats. He doesn't even want a son. He's more interested in holding power over me to manipulate me back into his bed. God knows what I did to encourage that kind of behavior, but I'll never go there again. Ever.
"WE'RE HOME," I CALL into my mother's house. It's the house I grew up in, but it's never been a real home. Dad left when I was young, never to be seen again. I don't even blame the guy. I'd have done the same if I were able, but I had to wait until I was sixteen to blow this joint - only to land myself right back in it at nineteen. Knocked up and having thrown in my job thanks to a rotten, cheating slime-ball, I'd only been part way through my studies. My great plan to get my nursing degree and run away for good almost disappeared. I knew that if I could swallow my pride, I could salvage it, so I dragged my sorry ass back home and got on with it.
Not a day goes by that I'm not made to see the error of my ways - as if I need these things pointed out.
"You've been gone all day. You didn't think to call?" Mom says as she greets us in the front room and crouches in front of Ry. Licking her thumb, she rubs at his face. "Run upstairs and wash for dinner, Ryan."
"Yes, Gran."
When he's out of earshot, Mom looks at me. "You're lucky dinner is only just ready. Otherwise it'd be cold."
"Thanks Mom."
Yes. Thank you.
It is easier to be late and then thank the woman for growling than it is to have offered to help make the meal, or suggest we make our own damn dinner. It's her house and she'll do it her way, and as much as I hate it, I need her right now and I just have to suck eggs.
Literally. I can smell them from here.
"Eggs for dinner?" I ask, hanging my bag and sun-hat on her hooks.
"And meatloaf. And salad. That's alright isn't it?"
It's not asked out of interest or approval, but rather as a challenge.
"Eggs are great," I say, forcing a smile. "It all sounds great. Thanks for making dinner. I'll just wash up real quick," I add, grabbing my things from the hook to put away and rushing up the stairs to escape her before returning with Ry in tow.
We sit at the small table, and Ry is served first. He knows not to start until we all have our meals, but once we do, he tucks in, comfortable in his habits because he doesn't know any differently.
Mom and I smile politely at each other and make small talk, but our rigid postures give away our lack of enthusiasm.
"Freda has given me some extra shifts this month. Is that okay with you?"
Mom's knife scrapes her plate sharply as she slices through her meatloaf. "Are they night shifts?"
I nod.
Sighing, she looks at Ry. "I'm sure we'll manage, won't we Ryan?"
Mouth full, Ry glances at me and nods at his Gran.
"It's just for the month," I assure her. "It's just while some others are on leave; to help out."
"I said it's fine."
End of discussion. For now.
"What did you get up to today, Ryan?" Mom asks, clearly tiring of my endless requests.
"Mom took me to the art gallery
where they had painting -"
"Yes, I see that from your shirt," she says, throwing me a judgmental look.
Ry looks down and nods. "I think that's why Brad liked it."
"And who might Brad be?" my mother inquires, pursing her lips as she chews.
"The man who painted the picture outside Mom's ward. He's in a wheelchair, but he didn't give me a ride - even though Mom knows him."
"She knows him, does she?" she says, sending me another harsh glance.
That one will be for exposing my son to some ex-patient. I almost choke on my pea salad as I think what she might say if she knew Brad was the kind of guy that could trash a room in under ten seconds and assault a doctor for telling him he'd never walk again. I think she'd die if she knew I'd kissed him; that I'd want to do more than kiss him if I got a few hours to convince him I was interested. He seemed pretty intent on putting his shields up though, so maybe it'd take more than a few hours. Not that I have that kind of time. Or any real time to do what I'd like to do. Yet.
Interrupted by another disapproving look, I hear Ry telling Mom about getting ice cream, but not a skateboard, and the mean man at the park that made us leave.
"He didn't make us leave; we chose to leave," I correct him as I clear my plate and excuse myself from the table. "Finish your dinner."
"Children always speak the truth," Mom says flatly. "They're innocent, you see."
And I'm anything but. Yes Mom, you've made your point.
"They are, which is why they shouldn't be exposed to strange men talking trash. We left, and we made it home just in time for dinner. Thanks mom. I'll be back to do the dishes after I run Ry's bath."
Closing the bathroom door behind me, I run the water in the tub and take several deep breaths. I'm almost losing it every time she starts today and I've got to get back in control. I must be tired. Tired, and pissed off at Dex. And shaken up by seeing Brad.
Clenching my jaw, I open the door back up to find Ry on his way, holding his stomach.
"Are you okay?" I ask, dropping to one knee and pressing my lips to his forehead to gauge his temperature.