The Crashing Series

by Kristen Hope Mazzola

  “Sorry, Mags. Didn’t mean to startle you.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck in nervousness. “I was just going to come up and make sure your tattoo was okay and that you were feeling all right…” His voice trailed off timidly, pausing for a moment before continuing. “We had a lot to drink yesterday…”

  I yawned and stretched before responding. “I’ll jump in the shower soon and take care of my tat. It’s not too bad.” I smiled warmly and patted the bed next to me. “Did you sleep on the couch?”

  Climbing under the covers next to me, he nodded. “Yeah, we got pretty lit last night.”

  I curled up into his arms, nuzzling his bare chest, breathing in his warm, sweet skin. We shifted until we were in the perfect comfortable position. “Yeah, I don’t remember much after the pizza got here and we had a couple of beers.”

  Walker chuckled a little in my ear. “You didn’t miss much. You passed out, pizza in hand, after you made us take a few shots of Jack. I brought you up here and held you for a bit while you cried in your sleep. Once you stopped, I went back downstairs and slept there, not wanting to be too far if you needed me again.”

  I let my head fall into the crook of his shoulder and neck, breathing in his amazing scent of cologne, beer, and sun-baked skin again; it was still fantastically intoxicating. “You’re amazing,” I whispered right next to his cheek, letting my lips graze the light stubble of his jawline. I closed my eyes and then kissed him quickly before cuddling back down in his arms. I was so comfortable while he held me that the anger of my conversation with my mother and the terrible heartache faded.

  We dozed off for about an hour before a phone’s vibrations woke me up again. This time it was Walker’s. I looked at the phone on my nightstand and saw that it was Mitch, so without thinking about the time or how it might seem, I answered the phone, trying to not wake Walker.

  “Hey, Mitch, it’s Mags. What’s up?” I gently slid out of Walker’s embrace to finish the call from my bathroom, trying to be polite.

  “Mags? Is Walker at your place this early? I thought he got there later on Sundays.” His voice was sterner than I had been expecting, but I brushed it off. Walker and I were platonic, innocent friends; Mitch was the last person I thought would ever suspect otherwise.

  “We drank some more after you dropped us off. Walker slept on the couch and is still sleeping.” I figured I shouldn’t volunteer where; that might look bad. “I can tell him you called if you want, or is there something you need?”

  “Um, can I come over? I don’t want to be alone. Y’all are my best friends. I kind of need you.” His voice broke off, becoming more and more desperate with every word.

  I figured it was not the time to start asking questions. Mitch would explain everything when he got over. “Yeah, of course. You don’t even have to ask. See you soon. I’ll make us breakfast or something.”

  “Okay, uh, thanks, Mags. See you soon.”

  “Of course. Drive safe.”

  I hung up the phone, creeping into my room again, hoping to be quiet enough not to wake Walker. I was startled when his voice broke the silence from behind me while I was attempting to sneak out the door.

  “Sneaking off on me? I see how it is.” His sexy half-grin complemented his accusingly raised eyebrow perfectly. “I knew holding you would be too good to last.” His face was hellishly playful as his nostrils flared and his eyes darkened as they fixated on my entire body.

  Slowing rolling my hips, locking my eyes with his, I strode back over to him curled up in my sheets. I almost forgot about Mitch, our unspoken rule to be platonic, and everything else in the world. In that moment, I was so attracted to him that my body ached—a feeling I hadn’t had in what seemed like forever. Then, in a split second, his face turned questioning as he pointed to his phone in my hand.

  Sheepishly, I looked down at it, letting my smoldering desire cool, and told him about my conversation with Mitch, explaining my reason for trying to sneak out without disturbing his peaceful sleep. “I know how much you enjoy my bed.” I felt my cheeks flare red, remembering the almost sex dream I’d had just hours before. “I didn’t want to deprive you of comfortable sleep.”

  He stretched his arms out to hold me again, but I declined.

  “Mitch will be here any moment. He thinks you’re on the couch. Get your ass downstairs.” His shoulders sank as he tried to pout, but he couldn’t argue. The line always had to be drawn by one of us; it just wasn’t usually me who needed to do it.

  He got up and stretched quickly, his bare torso flexing beautifully in the sun rays that were beaming in from my extra-large window. My mind started flipping through all of the things I wanted to do to his body and everything mine longed to feel him do, and I decided to take a shower—a cold one.

  When I got downstairs after my cool-down session, I walked into a very solemn scene of Walker sitting next to Mitch on the couch with his hand on Mitch’s shoulder. Mitch’s head was cradled in his hands. Two shot glasses were empty next to the open bottle of the amber liquid that saves all of us when we need it. I fluttered down on the other side of Mitch, resting my head on his back, breathing slowly. “Little brother? What’s wrong?”

  I could feel Mitch’s shallow sobs echoing through his body. Walker spoke for him. “He caught Eva cheating this morning.” Walker’s voice was stern and cold; a serpent’s hiss from a forked tongue dripping with poison could not have been more evil or angry.

  I sat holding Mitch’s trembling body. Eva was Mitch’s stepmother. She had raised him from the time he was an infant. Mitch’s mother had died during childbirth from hemorrhaging. Eva had been her nurse and had helped put Buck, Mitch’s father, back together after the death. Buck and Mitch really cared about Eva; she was kind of the glue that kept their little family together.

  “Last night, after I dropped you guys off, I decided to head over to my dad’s instead of driving the extra twenty minutes to my place…” His voice trailed off, getting more cold and shallow when he finally continued. “Apparently Dad had to work the third shift at the yard last night and Eva had…company.” That last word was soaked in disdain as it fell hard into the room.

  Even though it was ten in the morning, Walker filled up the two shot glasses again and handed one to Mitch and the other to me, coolly frowning and pursing his lips. “I think y’all could use these.” After I took the glass, Walker leaned behind Mitch’s back and brushed my cheeks off. I jumped at his touch; I hadn’t even realized I had been crying right along with Mitch.

  We raised our glasses together, letting them clank, and the liquid washed away a twinge of the edge of the sorrow engulfing us. Goose bumps spread over my body as I cringed. I guess my body wasn’t expecting that one this early.

  Standing, worried the whiskey was going to come right back up from my empty stomach, I realized we all needed some breakfast. It had been a crazy twenty-four hours, and none of us had eaten or slept properly for various reasons.

  “I’m going to make us some breakfast. Want to come into the kitchen, guys?” They both got up and joined me, bringing the bottle along. They sat at the table, fury screaming from their tone and Mitch’s fists occasionally slamming down on the oak table. I started off by brewing some dark roast, making all of us Irish coffees to continue with the theme of the morning. A sense of relief came over me at the idea of taking care of someone else for a change—not that I was happy about the reason for the guys being at my house in their pissed and saddened states. It was a nice break to not be the center of the pity but the giver of advice and warm words.

  I put a colossal platter of French toast, bacon, and a whole pitcher full of Irish brew onto the table and we all dug in, even though it took a little bit of coaxing to get Mitch to eat. The smell of cinnamon, maple, and bacon grease was the perfect combination to make anyone’s stomach grumble.

  We sat quietly, eating, not making eye contact, until Mitch finally broke the silence. “How the fuck am I going to tell my dad?”

  Walk
er and I froze, slack-mouthed, not sure what to say. There was no good way to go about telling someone that their angel had burnt wings.

  I reached across the light wooden table, grabbing both his hands in mine. “Mitch, you know you have to tell him. Why don’t you ask him to come over here? Or we can go with you?”

  Walker and Mitch both shook their heads in unison. Mitch was quick to shoot down my ideas. “Dad has pride, Mags. It’d hurt more if he knew he wasn’t the first to know.”

  Walker looked at Mitch, seeming to ponder if he should ask the next question, but it came out anyway. “So what actually happened last night? The whole story. Maybe we can come up with the best way to break it to him instead of: ‘Hey, Buck. Eva’s a whore and you need to leave her ass.’”

  Mitch nodded. He told us about him pulling up to his parents' home and there being a dark blue Cadillac that Mitch recognized in the driveway; it belonged to Buck's business partner. Assuming that his folks were entertaining their friends, Mitch didn’t think anything of it and snuck in through the side door to not disturb the party. It wasn’t unusual for Mitch to drop by and crash in his old room from time to time, so this was nothing new for him. When Mitch got to the top of the stairs, he heard his stepmother giggling and the low tone of a lustful man’s voice coming from the guest room.

  “At least they had the fucking decency to use a different room than Dad’s. When I walked up to the door in a rage, I kicked it open, breaking it in half to find Eva butt-ass naked on her damn knees like a ten-cent hooker.” At that point in the story, Mitch was pacing from the kitchen to the living room, shouting at the top of his lungs.

  We determined that even though the story was going to hurt, it needed to be told fully and truthfully. Buck was being lied to by his wife; it wasn’t fair for his son to lie too. Walker felt it was for the best if they got him while Buck was still at work. So they left, Walker driving Mitch to give his father some of the worst news a son could reveal. They both said their goodbyes and thanked me for the breakfast. I sent them on their way with travel cups full of plain black coffee, hoping it would help mask the smell of the previous day’s and the morning’s beverage consumption.

  Once the guys were gone, I figured I should clean and do some grocery shopping since I had refused the maid and my mother’s help. I made my list and then got to scrubbing my bathroom until it was sparkling. I worked my way through the entire house, dusting, vacuuming, mopping. I even did all of my mounds of laundry. Once all my clothes were hung and shoved in drawers, I poured myself a glass of wine and relaxed in my lemony-fresh kitchen. The table was even polished enough that I could see my reflection in it. A wonderful sigh of relief came over me when the brick-red beverage hit the back of my throat. I hadn’t done anything that productive just for myself in as long as I could remember. It was amazing to be able to relish in a job well done.

  I finished my victory wine and headed for the grocery store. On my way there, I got a phone call from Walker, letting me know that he had Buck and Mitch in the truck and they were heading for the Katzes' home to “kick the bitch out.” I told him that I was proud of all three of them and that they needed to keep me posted on how it all went.

  By the time I had half of my list crossed off, Mitch had texted me with relief. Apparently, he had scared Eva so bad by catching her that all of her stuff was gone and a note was left for Buck on the counter. The note went into a long bullshit story about how their marriage had been crumbling for years and that she didn’t love the business partner and was leaving him too. Eva had taken a train for Las Vegas, where her brother was a dancer in some drag show, to start over and follow her dreams. I wasn’t sure what dreams she had, but the slutty reputation of Vegas seemed to be perfectly fitting for the whore she had become.

  Nine

  Sitting in my therapist’s waiting room for my second session was just as nerve-racking as the first had been. Waiting was one of the most uncomfortable and annoying things possible, making my nerves build with every ticking minute. Being punctual by nature, I felt as if the rest of the world should follow suit.

  Trying to pass the time, I flipped through the various magazines on the table in front of me and slurped coffee I’d bought from the coffee shop next door. The aroma of caramel hazelnut dark roast filled the small, boring waiting room and brought me into a happy, relaxed state. I read through a lengthy article about a scandalous love triangle one young starlet had found herself in with two men old enough to be her father. Reading through it, I could understand why housewives across the country enjoyed these juicy gossip articles. It was quite intriguing.

  The door to Candice Davenport’s office swung open. The sound of shuffling feet broke my concentration right as the story was getting good. I watched the same melancholy fellow exit her office with the same awful look plastered on his face, his expression shallow, almost evil. Nevertheless, Candice was smiling when our eyes met.

  I took my position opposite my therapist’s light leather chair, realizing how adorable her outfit was as she rummaged in her desk for a pen. Dr. Davenport was adorned in cute teal kitten heels, a dark blue blazer with a canary yellow camisole, and an off-white pencil skirt. Tying it all together were her chunky necklace and bracelet that were the same teal and yellow from her ensemble. I was glad she dressed in such cheery clothes, and I wondered if she did it on purpose to try to bring bright, happy colors to the dreary minds of the depressed who flooded in every day.

  Dr. Davenport finally settled down into her enormous chair, pen and paper at the ready. “So how was your week, Margret?”

  I let out a little sigh, not really knowing where to start. “You can call me Mags. Everyone does.”

  Through her thick-framed glasses, I could see her gaze soften. “Mags it is then. And call me Candice. Dr. Davenport is very stuffy.” She snubbed her nose at her own name, making both of us giggle.

  Finding myself lost for words, I looked around the room, a little uneasy, trying to rack my brain for what to say, where to start, what to bring up. “I’m really new to all this. What are we supposed to talk about?” I felt like I needed a little bit of handholding.

  Warmly, Candice told me we could talk about anything I’d like. “Anywhere from what is angering you to what is making you happy. Love, hate, the weather. Use me as your outlet, if you will. I am an unbiased audience at your disposal.”

  Mitch’s situation was really weighing on me, and that was something I needed to get off my chest. I told her the entire adulterous tale, realizing how horrible Mitch must have felt. This led right into why it hit so close to home for me, into the topic of my mother and how our relationship was. I happily divulged the fact that my mom and I were not speaking and how that had come about. I told her how it was really all my father’s fault for breaking her down into such a weak woman and that I resented the fact that she was never strong for me.

  I paused at my own realization. I had never let myself talk like that about my parents’ divorce before. For that matter, I had never realized that I felt abandoned by not just my father, but my mother as well, for all those years she was “emotionally unavailable”, as Candice had put it.

  Candice paused from her furious writing for a moment. Her words came out almost hushed. “Do you think this might be why it’s been so difficult for you to let go of Randy? Maybe it’s too distressing to think that the abandonment is a vicious cycle?”

  My back grew rigid and I broke eye contact with her, almost shocked by my therapist’s idea. I had always thought I was well-adjusted, stronger than my mother, able to cope with life. It was uncomfortable to think I might not be, that I might just be too scared to be hurt again. I stared at my feet, nervously thumbing the seam of my maroon button-down.

  “I’d never thought about it like that, I guess. It might be that way. I don’t really know.”

  Looking up at me with a sympathetic gaze, Candice shifted a little in her chair. “Are you lonely at home?”

  Her words sounded foreign to me.
Am I lonely? I have no idea. I don’t think so, but who can tell? My house is empty now, but that is to be expected when the other occupant dies suddenly. I had been prepared for it to be empty for a while during Randy’s deployment, but I’d always assumed the void would be filled again. It wasn’t that I was lonely, I was just wading in the realization of him never filling our home with love again.

  For the most part, I had been numb, just fumbling through the motions, not letting myself be anything other than sad or mad for months. But lonely was not something I had considered. “No, I guess not. I miss having Randy around all the time, but Cali, Mitch, and Walker do a good job of distracting me.” I shrugged a little and tried to calm my rigid body. I hadn’t noticed how uncomfortably I had been sitting, but then I could feel that my ass was falling asleep.

  Thinking back on the last couple of days and how brilliant it had been to have Walker so close, I thought that maybe it was loneliness or emptiness bringing me closer to him. The notion settled me down a little, making me feel less guilty about the misguided feelings of longing I’d had in those stolen moments with Walker on the couch and in my bed.

  Candice leaned over, putting her elbows on her knees, clasping her hands together. She looked deep into my eyes. “Mags, I do not feel that living alone is in your best interest right now. Would you consider moving in with someone or having someone live with you?”

  “I’d never thought about something like that before. I don’t have to worry about paying my bills. I make plenty of money, so I never needed a roommate. Do you really think it would help?” My face twisted with confusion, making my brow crease. I didn’t like the idea of having to share my space with someone else.

  I finally agreed that I should at least consider having someone move in with me. I had made it quite clear there was no way I was going to move out of my home. I had become too attached, and frankly there was no way I could stomach selling the place now.