Irreparably Broken

by K J Bell

  Testing his bravery, I say, “Something funny?”

  His eyes widen bashfully, and I spot a hint of blush in his cheeks.

  Ha! Take that!

  Without answering my question, he slips his hand through his hair, holding it against his head, and says, “I’m happy we talked. Thank you.”

  “You're welcome.” It’s barely a whisper. I have to get out of here before I do something foolish.

  Escaping from Brady is the easy part. Calming my raging hormones is a great deal more difficult. I slump against the wall after closing the door to the garage and try to calm my erratic breathing.

  Why do I turn to warm mush every time he looks at me? I mean, he broke my heart before, opened the door to reality and forced me to watch. Yet when his body closed in on me, I liquefied. Oh, God. His body, shirtless and so close, radiating heat, sent my libido into a tizzy. I nearly begged him to take me up against his truck. Then I saw his tattoos, newly inked and vibrant with color. A masterpiece, offering a story of what he’s been through recently. I catalogued them, trying to understand their meanings.

  On his side is a female angel holding a newborn baby. She has large, exquisite, and intricate wings, bent protectively as if shielding the infant. Is that what happened with Vanessa? Did they have a baby? Did the baby die? Oh, God, I don’t want to know. His arm, showcasing a wooden door, latched and locked with a chain. The chain wrapping once around his arm and then looping around a female hand. With red fingernails, the slight feminine hand is folded delicately over a large brass key that sticks out of both sides of her hand. Lastly and most interestingly, across his chest are scripted letters, not in English – Latin, maybe. I wish I could remember the letters so I could type them into Google translate.

  He stirs too many emotions, scares me, and if he decides he wants me, I’ll never be able to deny him. In the last year his life’s shifted, been cruel to him, and he’s blaming himself. He refuses to care, keeps his secrets buried deep inside, and I desperately want him to share with me. I want Brady to open up, free his thoughts and then take me, love me…and…oh, God. What the hell is wrong with me? We just agreed to be friends, and I’m acting like we have a chance for more. I seriously need my head examined.

  I go straight to the fridge for water to wet my parched mouth. Liv is leaning on the counter, crunching on Cheetos. Her raised eyebrow asks the question.

  “It was nothing.” I turn to face her and gulp down half the bottle of water. “He just wanted to make sure I was okay after last night. I was pretty shook up after my encounter with the roofie pusher.”

  She narrows her eyes, tapping the puffy orange tube against her lips. “Uh-huh? Last night you and Brady show up soaking wet, holding hands, and out of breath. You had lipstick smeared across your face. Brady finds me and tells me he left you in the car, and when I get there, you have tears. Oh, yeah, don’t deny it. Running mascara doesn’t lie. Today you see him without a shirt and your eyes practically pop out of your head, and then he suggests a private conversation. There is something going on, all right.” She stands with her hand on her popped-out hip and her lips pressed together in a flat line.

  I straighten my spine and square my shoulders, preparing to lie to my best friend. There is no way I’m confessing what is going on between me and her brother. “Seriously, Liv. He was just worried about me, so can you drop it, please?”

  She tosses a Cheeto at me and leans back on the counter. “You’re a very bad liar, but I’ll drop it. You’ll tell me eventually. You always do.”

  I shake my head, knowing she’s probably right. “Hey, how about we give each other mani-pedis and hang out all afternoon eating junk food and listening to music?” I do want to hang out with Liv, but the suggestion is my manipulative way of switching subjects in case she changes her mind about dropping it.

  “You had me at mani-pedis, sista.” Liv pops another Cheeto into her mouth, crunching it loudly between her teeth. “I gotta take a shower first. You hunt down some nail polish, and I’ll be out in a bit.” She spins on her heels, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

  As I tap my fingernails on the counter, my mind wanders back to my conversation in the garage with Brady. Do his parents really have secrets? The possibility eludes me. His parents are great. They hug and kiss constantly. Mr. Hunter smacks Mrs. Hunter on the ass all the time, which is gross, but sweet, too. By all appearances, they’re totally devoted to each other. Is that all it is, an appearance? When my mom had an affair years ago, I remember Mrs. Hunter telling my mom to be completely honest with my dad. It’s inexplicable to me that Mrs. Hunter has secrets when she offered that kind of advice to my mother.

  Tug disrupts my thoughts. “You’re doing it again, nutty buddy.”

  I jump and clutch the edge of the counter. “Shit, Tug. You scared the crap outta me.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. You were being expressive again.” He makes air quotes when he says “expressive."

  I roll my eyes and take another swig of water. Pouring a small amount in my hand, I spin and fling it at Tug. He’s a good sport and laughs about it. Or at least that’s what I think until he grabs the sprayer from the sink and showers me with it. I squeal and run until I’m out of range. He turns the water off and tosses me a dish towel. I dry off, vowing revenge.

  When I notice he’s wearing board shorts, I assume he’s going with Brady to the beach. I laugh at the smiley faces on them – so Tug. “Are you going riding with Brady today?”

  “Yep. You and Liv wanna come?” He launches a Cheeto in the air, and tries to catch it in his mouth, but it bounces off his nose.

  I laugh. “No, Liv and I are hanging out here doing girly stuff. You know, painting fingernails and talking about boys.”

  His tongue falls out of his mouth, and he holds his hands around his throat to simulate choking. “Sounds like a blast. I think I’d rather have a pitchfork shoved up my ass than stick around for that.”

  “You weren’t invited anyway.” I stick my tongue out at him.

  He swipes my water bottle, finishing it off. I don’t bother to object. It comes with the territory around Tug. “You know, I could skip the beach if you want to go out with me.” He’s goading me.

  I play along. “I’d rather drink from a porta-potty than go with you, Tug.”

  “God…you’re killin’ me, Tor.”

  I poke him in the chest. “Oh, come on. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” That reminds me of a Kelly Clarkson song, so I decide to sing it, figuring if you can’t beat ’em, then you might as well join ’em.

  I laugh when Tug adds the next verse and grabs my hand. Dancing around the kitchen floor, we’re both singing. He twirls me around once and then dips me, my hair mopping the tiles as I fall back.

  “You know you two are in need of some serious psychological help, right?” Liv yells. She’s upside down. Wet hair falls down her back, and her skin is fresh-from-the-shower shiny.

  Tug lifts me up, and I spin toward her. I smile, and stretch my hand out. “Aw, come on, Livvy. You know the words. Sing with us.”

  She chuckles and takes my hand. We dance and sing for what seems like hours. We look ridiculous, but I’m having a blast. Tug plays air guitar, and Liv stands in a chair, holding out her hand and singing into it like a microphone. I’m singing through my laughter, enjoying myself immensely, when Brady’s words enter my thoughts.

  You see what you want to see.

  I love this family. I’m an only child, with two parents who worked so much when I was growing up that I would have been ignored my entire life if not for Liv and her family. Their parents are the parents I always wished mine would be. When my parents were home, they were always fighting. Not once have I heard either of Liv’s parents raise their voice with one another. This is the “three kids and white picket fence” family. Whatever Brady is enduring, I’m certain he’s using his family as an excuse. His family is wonderful. I want him to tell me why he’s hurting, but I remind myself it’s no
ne of my business. If Brady wants to tell me, he’ll do so when he’s ready.

  After our jam session is over, we laugh until it hurts. Tug gathers some snacks from the pantry and goes out to the garage. Liv and I continue to laugh as we finish off the entire bag of Cheetos.

  Brady

  I’m in seriously big trouble, the boiling hot water kind. There’s absolutely no way I can be just friends with a girl when she reacts so instantaneously to my touch. When I saw her nipples harden, I wanted to thrust my hand up her shirt and roll them between my fingers. I’m a shameless pervert. Her face, eyes wide like a doe and cheeks red as wine when she realized I knew, was adorable. She straightened immediately and tried to cover them up with her arms. Thankfully, she was too preoccupied hiding her own arousal to notice mine tenting through my shorts.

  I think about her body, her perfect body. The swell of her breasts, the half-moon curve between her ribcage. The top of her hip bone, which protrudes forward just enough, begging my hands to latch on. Goddammit! I have to have her. Especially when I think about the taste of her lips, or the deep-seated desire burning in her piercing blue eyes, beseeching me to take her body and own it, to brand her and make her mine.

  Tug interrupts my thoughts when he bursts through the door into the garage, throwing his hands up in the air. “Tug has arrived. Let’s get to the beach and meet some ladies.”

  I glance down at his black shorts with neon yellow smiley faces on them, and raise my eyebrows. “I’m thinking you’re not meeting any ladies in those shorts. Seriously, Tug, those things are loud.”

  Chin in the air, he grins proudly. “The clothing fits the man.”

  “Well, I can’t argue that one, little brother.”

  Once the skis are latched down and secure, we load a cooler full of food and beer – mostly beer – and put it in the bed of my truck. Tug directs me out of the driveway and then climbs in.

  As we drive to Jesse’s, I’m reminded of how much Tug talks. We used to call him “Jabber Jaws,” and now I remember why. He talks about school, his friends, girls, and, hell, he even talks about rocks. While his rambling is endless, it’s nothing terribly annoying until he brings up our mother. “What’s the deal with you and Mom?”

  White-knuckling the steering wheel, I inhale long and deep – reminding myself that Tug doesn’t know anything – and choose my words carefully. “The deal, Tug, is I’m not living up to Mom’s plan as quickly as she’d like me to. You know how she is.”

  His hand lands on my shoulder and he shakes it. “You’re as bad at lying as Mom.”

  I loosen my grip on the wheel, and laugh. “And you’re as nosy as Liv.” He laughs now too. “It’s not a big deal, and it honestly does have to do with what she thinks I should be doing with my life. The problem’s the part where I disagree with her.”

  He looks as though a light has gone on, and I mentally give myself props for my choice of wording. “You disagreed with Mom? Wow! Bro, you’ve got some giant elephant-size balls.”

  Since I owe him one for this morning anyway, I reach across the seat to sock him in the arm.

  Chapter 9

  Tori

  After Liv spent hours on the phone talking with the newest object of her affection, we finally start our pampering. Once we’ve finished soaking and filing, it’s time for polish. I decide on a French manicure, and of course Liv goes with neon pink. I pick up the bottle of clear polish and twist the top off.

  Liv paints the glowing pink color across her big toe, her chin resting on her knee. “You know, if Tug is driving you crazy, I can talk to him about it.”

  She’s worried, and I have to reassure her I’m fine with Tug and his constant innuendos. “Are you kidding? I love Tug to death. Besides, if he stops asking me out all the time, I’ll be offended. Or at least my ego will be.”

  She shakes her head and makes a puke face. “As sick as you sound right now, I’m relieved to hear it.”

  “Do you remember when we were little and Tug used to run around the house in his Spiderman Underoos with a cape around his neck, yelling, ‘I’ll save you, girls. Spidey to the rescue’? He’s always been hilarious.”

  “Correction, he’s always been a dork, but you just gave me a delightfully evil idea.” She rises to her feet, and walks on her heels so as not smudge the polish on her toes. She leaves the room and returns a minute later with a box of photos. She sits down next to me, then lifts the lid, and starts shuffling through the box. “There is a picture of Spidey-Tug in here somewhere. That’s total blackmail material. I have to find it.”

  “That’s awful, Liv.”

  Both her eyebrows raise, and she snorts out laughter. “No, it’s ammunition. I won’t do anything with it unless he pushes my buttons.”

  Poor Tug, he’s doomed. She should just plaster it all over the Internet now. I’m positive the next time the two of them talk, he’ll push at least one of her buttons. “Be nice. He’s a good brother.”

  She laughs and picks up a few photos.

  There are a lot of her with her family. Some of them are much older, her parents as children. I spot a photo of her mom with her arm around another woman. They look to be high school age. The woman with Mrs. Hunter is striking, with the most intriguing green eyes that light up the photo. “Who is this with your mom?” I pick up the photo, and stare at the woman before turning the photo so Liv can see. “She’s beautiful.”

  Liv looks at her hands, and her face scrunches up. She takes the photo from my hand and smiles at it endearingly. “This is my Aunt Mona.” The tone in her voice is sad and apprehensive.

  “Your mom’s sister?” She nods. “I never knew she had siblings.”

  “Just Mona. She died before I was born. From what I understand, my mom was devastated. She doesn’t like to talk about Mona. I’ve asked about her before, and my mom is vague. I can tell it’s painful for her, so I don’t push it.”

  Liv and I are not blood-related, but I can understand Mrs. Hunter’s pain. I’d be a mess if anything ever happened to Liv. “I’m sure it’s hard for her.”

  “It is. The only thing I know about her I learned from my dad. I brought the photo to him once when Mom wasn’t home and asked a few questions. He told me Mona was three years older than my mom. They’re half-sisters. My mom has a different father. Mona’s father was killed in a car accident, and my grandmother married my grandfather a year later. My dad said Mom and Mona were extremely close, and Mona put my dad through the third degree when he and my mother first met. That’s about all I know. I’d like to know more about her, but not enough to hurt my mom by bringing it up.”

  “Do you know if she had any children? Maybe you have cousins out there you could ask about her, since talking about her is too painful for your mom?”

  “No. She was never married and doesn’t have any children.” Liv frowns and sets the photo aside. Her fingers flip through more photos in the box.

  She’s obviously done talking about her aunt. I say, “Maybe one day your mom will come around.”

  With a colossal grin on her face, she plucks a photo from the box. “Found it.”

  Looking down at the photo, I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. The picture of little-boy Tug in his tighty-whiteys is priceless. His hands are turned into fists resting on his hips, and a bright red cape is tied around his neck, exactly as I remember. Even back then, Liv would give him shit and tease him that Spiderman didn’t wear a cape. He’s smiling through crooked teeth like he just saved the world. He looks the same, except his teeth are now straightened from braces. The best part of the photo by far is that he’s paired his super-hero outfit with black cowboy boots.

  “He’s such a dork,” Liv teases at the same time I say,

  “Aw, he’s so cute.”

  Brady

  She’s sitting all alone on the couch, watching television, when I stroll into the living room, exhausted from a long day in the sun. The tiny shorts and tight T-shirt she’s wearing hug every curve of her perfect figure. Her feet
rest on the coffee table, foam hearts sticking out of the tops of her toes.

  “Hey, Tor.”

  As she looks up at me, a soft smile lifts her lips, and my heart skips a beat. She’s fucking beautiful. “Hey, Brady.” The warmth of her voice fills me with emotions.

  Pointing at her toes, I tease her. “New fashion trend?”

  She points to her feet. “Toe separators.”

  Okay, that makes more sense…not. “Where is everyone?”

  “Liv ditched me for a guy. And your parents are out for the evening at some fundraiser. Where’s Tug?”

  “He stayed at the beach with some of his buddies. Guess you’re stuck with me.” I grin playfully and point to the kitchen. “I’m going to grab a beer. You want one?”

  “Sure, I’ll take one.”

  While in the kitchen, I remember how she smiled when I handed her that tissue in the garage earlier today. I decide to do it again. Grabbing a tissue from the box on the island, I write a quick note on it to take back with me. After folding it into a square, I carefully slip it in my pocket. It’s corny as hell, but I can’t help it. I’d do anything to see her smile like that again.

  With two beers in one hand and a container of dip in the other, I use my teeth to carry a bag of potato chips and return to the living room. I open my mouth and the bag lands perfectly on the coffee table. Tori chuckles, and I bend my head to smile at her. I set the dip down first, and then transfer one of the beers to my other hand and offer her one before sitting down on the edge of the couch next to her. She sips her beer and then sets it on the side table.