Before & After

by Nazarea Andrews

  “Excuse me if I choose to not trust a violent felon,” he says coldly.

  “That’s what everyone focuses on. My violent crimes. Peyton asked, you know. Why. The why is more important than the what, and I’d do it again. Every fucking time.”

  The table is quiet and then Brody asks softly, “Why?”

  “His best friend. Scott was being abused. He’d kept it quiet for a while, and pulled the attention from the other kid in the house. He made himself a target to protect them, and kept it from Rike because he knew how Rike would react.”

  I close my eyes, and lean back. Let her tell the story.

  “One afternoon, Rike shows up at the foster home. They haven’t seen each other in months—just emails to keep in touch and to make sure the other is safe. They’re all each other has, right? So he shows up at this foster home. It was a bad time—Scott was home with the bastard while the other kids were out and he’d managed to piss the guy off, not that it’s hard, you know. And Rike walks in on him beating the shit out of Scott. Scott’s covered in blood and piss, barely fucking conscious, and Rike—well, he’s smart. He knows it’s been happening for a while. He can read bruises like most people can read the paper. And he lost it. Attacked the guy with a glass bottle he found on the table. By the time they got Rike off the dude, he’d carved his face up and beaten him to a pulp. The guy spent a month in the hospital before he was tossed in jail. Rike should have gotten a fucking medal. Instead, he got six months and probation, and wasn’t allowed near Scott for two years.”

  The longest two years of our life. We did what they said—mostly because I wouldn’t risk Scott being moved to another county. We made it work. And by then, we were so close to aging out, freedom was almost something we could taste.

  We rode it out, waited until we aged out and put it behind us, as much we could.

  It’s hard to forget something that put scars on your soul and body.

  “Maybe, Dad, you should find out why you’re judging someone before you decide to write them off,” she says softly.

  “You haven’t given us a lot of reason to trust your judgement, Pey,” he counters.

  “Enough,” Brody snaps. He glances between his sister and father, scowling. “We didn’t meet here to fight. Dad, do you think you could manage to get through dinner without judging every decision she makes? You don’t have to like it, but she’s not tied to the campaign, so it’s not hurting you and she’s happy. That does matter a little bit.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. Turns to me, and forces a small smile. “So, aside from beating up abusers, what do you do with yourself, Rike?”

  I eye him but he doesn’t look like he’s trying to find a way to trip me up. He looks curious and patient and hopeful. He’s throwing me a bone.

  “I’m a songwriter,” I say, flashing a smile. “And I’m apprenticing with a local tattoo artist.”

  Brody’s eyes widen and a smile twitches his lips. As her mother starts in on the problems with dating a degenerate, Brody shakes his head. “Good luck, man.”

  Chapter 22: After

  Never anyone's only.

  She said that, drunk and sad and

  I wanted to scream.

  My first thought is yours. my smile and

  Dreams and pleasure. I see you in every

  sunrise and teardrop and birdsong.

  Not my only.

  Only my everything.

  (Rike’s poems to Peyton)

  He almost dumps me into the truck. His truck. “What are you even doing here?” I demand, and he slams the door in my face. I huff a sigh, twisting in my seat to stare at him as he climbs in the truck.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand again, and he leans across the console, catching me by the back of the next and kissing me. It’s hot and hungry and forceful. There is no soft request; it’s a demand.

  It always has been with him.

  I bite his lip and his hand clenches in my hair, jerking just a little, riding a delicious line of pain, his tongue in my mouth, twisting and stroking.

  “I should spank your ass for that shit. You can’t go there alone. They’re horrible for you. Promise me, Peyton?”

  He never uses my full name, and it shocks me enough that I nod. He sighs, and sits back. “I’m not fucking you in my truck in your parent’s driveway. I love you too much for that. So put your seatbelt on and let’s go, because I do need to fuck you. Soon.”

  Why the hell does that blunt, crude admission turn me on so fucking much?

  I pull on my seatbelt, and he squeals out of my parent’s driveway.

  “You don’t like them,” I say after a few minutes.

  His gaze turns to me, pure disbelief, and I swallow hard. “No fucking shit, Pey.”

  He drives for about five minutes, and then jerks the truck off the road, onto a dirt road that serves as a driveway to an old, little used farm. “What are we doing?” I ask, nervously.

  “Your brother’s house is thirty minutes from here, and my hotel is farther than that. And I can’t wait that long to fuck you,” he says matter-of-factly, stopping the truck. He glances at me, the look hot and invasive. “You look fucking amazing, Fish.”

  Then he’s out of the truck and I have just a few seconds to decide. If this is what I want. If Rike is who I want. Then the door pops open, and his hands are on my legs, pulling me around to face him. He nudges them open and settles against me, hugging me. His shoulders relax as he clings to me. “I’ve missed you, Fish. So fucking much.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that. Except… “I miss you too,” I confess quietly. The truth. How can I miss someone I barely know, someone who shouldn’t matter to me? But should or not, he does.

  He matters so much.

  Rike looks up at me, his blue eyes hungry. “I want you. But it’s your choice. It’s always been your choice.” Something crosses his eyes and he smirks at me, a crooked little boy grin. “Stay or go?” he murmurs.

  A shudder runs through me, and my body goes soft and pliant, my panties wet. I’ve heard him say that before and it was hot.

  “Stay,” I whisper.

  His eyes flare and then he’s pulling me down, and I slide down his body, against this thick erection. He groans and I smile, just barely resisting the urge to wrap my legs around his waist and grind against him.

  Instead, I keep sliding down, until I’m on my knees. “Peyton,” he says hoarsely.

  I unzip his pants, and my hands are on him. Stroking over the silky skin. His dick kicks in my hand and I giggle, sliding his pants and boxers aide. He has two tattoos, trailing down that sexy v that makes my mouth water. A pair of dragons in mid-flight. I lean down and kiss one, my tongue licking over it, and he grunts, thrusting a little. I pull back and he curses. “Don’t tease, baby. Let me fuck your pretty little mouth.”

  My hand comes up and cups his balls, tugging gently, and he grunts. I lick over the matching dragon. “Dirty girl. You fucking love this. Want me to beg? Because I’m begging. Do it, babe. Suck my dick.” I take his cock deep, my lips tight around him and his head falls back, hissing, “Fuck, yes, baby.”

  I whimper as his hands find my hair, and he thrusts gently. “Love that dick, don’t you, dirty girl?”

  I keep one hand on his cock, and slip the other one down, pulling up my skirt and slipping a hand between my legs.

  “Yes,” he groans. “Fuck yes, touch yourself, Pey. You’re wet, aren’t you? So wet. I could fuck you so easy right now, babe.”

  I scream, shuddering as I come, a combination of the dirty, raspy words, and my fingers, and the fucking crazy high of controlling his pleasure. His hands are on me, jerking me up and I scream again as he buries himself in my pussy.

  “Fuck, yes,” he groans, pulling back and slamming into me again. He shifts me against the truck, slides a hand between my ass and the door and pulls me into him, meeting each furious thrust. Each one sets off another tiny orgasm, until there is nothing but sensation, and pleasure, and his body and mine.r />
  ***

  We fuck again when we get to the hotel, against the door while he chants my name like a prayer and plays my body like an instrument. After, I cuddle next to him on the bed, his fingers toying in my hair.

  “I want you to come home,” he says into the silence.

  I squeeze my eyes closed. I knew it was coming, but still—to hear it said so bluntly is like running headlong into a brick wall. I shift, so I’m lying across his chest. The koi on his arm stares up at me through the shield of seaweed and coral, and I study it.

  “I love that one,” I say. He chuckles, and I prop myself up, glaring at him. “What?”

  “You should. It’s yours.” My mouth falls open and he laughs again. “Why the hell does that surprise you? Half my ink is because of you.”

  “Tell me,” I demand.

  He pushes off the bed, and stands naked next to me. I make a small hum of appreciation and Rike laughs again. “Stop. Focus.”

  With some effort—and a good deal of reluctance—I force my attention from the more interesting bits of his anatomy to the ink he’s pointing at.

  I’m a patchwork across his body. The pinup girl on his ribcage with her head turned away, and long red hair. The script wrapped around his right wrist. The matching swallows on his back. And the koi, the brilliant tattoo that’s captivated me since I woke up in the hospital.

  “Why do you call me Fish?” I ask, tracing it.

  “People say there’s plenty of fish in the sea. I say, fuck you, she was my sea.”

  My breath catches and I glance up at hm. Let my lips curve into a tiny smile. “Doesn’t take mean I’m Sea?”

  He shifts, covering me and sliding into me in one move that makes my laugh catch in my throat. Turn into a broken groan.

  “Fish sounds better,” he whispers, watching me.

  I whimper, and he smiles, a smile so fucking beautiful and sad it makes me want to cry. Moves in me, slow and sweet, his lips on my neck and shoulders and lips, whispering sweet, dirty words of love while he makes love to me, until I gasp, my body arching against him as I come apart.

  When he comes, a few seconds later, he whispers, so softly, “I love you, Fish.”

  Chapter 23: Before

  The girls are out. Peyton wanted tequila, and after the few hours we spent with her parents, I don’t blame her much. I want some painkillers and my bed.

  “Was it bad?”

  “I won’t make her visit her parents again; let’s put it that way,” I say, scrubbing a hand over my face.

  Scotty’s quiet for a long minute, and I frown, glancing up at him. “Ever wonder if we were lucky? Our parents were awful, but at least we didn’t get stuck with them. We got free.”

  “Being put in the system isn’t free, Scott. It’s just in a fucking broken system.”

  He nods. “Yeah. I know. But we’re out now. And at least in the system we found some family. Maybe not the one we were born with, but family that you choose is just as important. Maybe more, in a way.”

  I stare at him. “Where the actual fuck is this coming from?”

  He shrugs. “Dunno. I guess now that we have the girls—we’re our own family. We created something for ourselves that we never had. What would we do if we lost that? If the girls walked away or decided that we aren’t good enough as we are?”

  I think about Peyton, and her fierce anger with her father, the way she defended me and refused to let him and Mary Anne tear me apart. I think of Lindsay and her good-natured teasing, the way she fights with Scott while pulling him closer. I think of how they both vanished, giving me and him the time to process shit, and how she put together that fucking perfect room, the way they’ve slipped so effortlessly into our lives, and made it their own.

  How Linds will work to get us gigs. How Peyton is so quick to encourage me and Scott to try new things, shit that will make us better. Happier.

  “They wouldn’t do that,” I say hoarsely. Because now I’m thinking about it, and the idea of losing them, even for a little while, is fucking terrifying.

  Lindsay isn’t mine. She won’t ever be, and I don’t want her. But the four of us—we’re a fucking family. And I hate even the thought of losing that. I glance at my best friend, the brother I never had. “They wouldn’t.”

  “No, brother,” he says gently. “They wouldn’t.”

  I stand abruptly and go into my room, grabbing the sketch I did this morning. I extend it to him silently, and his eyes widen. “Yeah?” he says, his gaze flicking up to me.

  “I want it to be the anchor piece for my right sleeve.”

  A smile turns his lips, and he nods. “I like it, dude. It’s appropriate and she’d love it. Not that you’re going to tell her.”

  I grin, “Not ‘til it’s done anyway.”

  “Secretive bastard,” he accuses, and I nod.

  There’s a knock on the door, and he arches an eyebrow at me silently. We haven’t been here long enough that anyone knows where we’re at. Staci does, and so does Barrie, but only because that’s work. “Did the girls forget their keys?” I ask, walking to the door.

  “No. Linds wanted to stop and get hers bedazzled or some shit,” he snorts.

  I laugh and open the door.

  Brody is standing there, his eyes darting around as he hunches forward, his hands tucked into his pockets. He’s looking around like he thinks he might be shanked for being here and I have to swallow my laugh. Because I like her brother, and he doesn’t know that this is actually a really good neighborhood, as our price range goes.

  Poor kid would have a heart attack if he knew where his sister had been slumming before we moved here.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, staring at him.

  “Uh, hello, future brother-in-law, yes I would love to come in.” From the couch, Scott snorts a laugh, and puts aside his guitar to stand and come to the door.

  "Who are you?" he asks without preamble.

  "Brody. And you’re Scott. Where is Peyton?"

  "She went to get alcohol."

  Brody laughs. "Dad has that effect on folks, and especially on her."

  I nod, and Scott heaves a sigh, grabbing my arm and pulling me aside while Brody steps into the apartment and closes the door behind him.

  "What are you doing here, man?" Scott asks.

  "You love my sister," he says, looking at me.

  I nod, and he grins. "Good. You’re good for her. Peyton is different from the rest of us. She's creative and spontaneous and wild. I thought for a long time that she killed that when she played the good little political daughter, but she didn't. And then--she told you about the eating disorder? About rehab?"

  I nod and my gut clenches. Because I'll run to the farthest ends of the earth to keep her away from these people. To make sure that she never becomes the shell of the girl she was then.

  "It changed her, man. Fucked her up for a long time. She had a hard time letting people in after that. And she quit playing the part, got deeper into her own head and creativity—but I haven't seen the girl I grew up with in years, not the way I saw her tonight. I want you to know that." He shifts and grins. "I saw my sister again, man. And you made that happen. You are bringing her out of her shell. So I don't really give a fuck who you are or what you do or what fucked up past you have hiding. I respect what you did." His gaze darts to Scott, and then back to me, and my best friend shifts.

  "So why are you here?" I ask. "I appreciate the vote of confidence and shit but it seems a little excessive."

  "I love Peyton. I get her in a way I don't get my brothers. But she doesn't need to be anywhere near my parents. They won't ever accept what she wants, because it's not the picture they have in their mind for her. I get where they're coming from—she's the only daughter and all that shit. But it's bad for her. And she's self-destructive when shit gets bad. So keep her away. Don't let her come back to this."

  I stare at him, startled. "You want me to keep Peyton away from her family?"

  "I don
't want you to be the reason Peyton comes back to her family. She won't, not on her own. But she loves you and you've never had one. She wants to give to the people she loves, and if she thinks this is something you want, she'll come home just to give you what you never had. And it'll destroy her, and what you two have. No one wants that. Well, I don't. She doesn't. You don't. So do her and yourself a favor and build your life without her family."

  "But you love her."

  "I do. And I'm going to be around, especially when I get out of college and can cut the apron strings. But in the meantime, I want my sister happy. Do that for me." He stares at me, and his eye aren't amused or laughing. He's dead serious. I nod and his lips twitch into a tired smile. "Thanks man. I--just thanks."

  He hugs me, abruptly, and I go stiff, startled. Behind him, Scott is staring his eyes huge and laughing. Then he steps back and grins at me. “Take care of yourself, Rike.”

  Chapter 24: After

  I want to strip the masks from you,

  Until you are as

  broken and

  Raw and

  Vulnerable.

  As you leave me.

  (Rike’s poems to Peyton)

  “I need you to come home,” he says the next morning. I peer at him over a cup of coffee and he sits down across from me. He’s dressed in a pair of loose flannel sleep, pants his chest bare except for ink. And my teeth marks.

  I flush, and look away.

  “Why?" I ask and his eyebrows rise.

  I shake my head, "Why now? What's different about now?"

  "Lindsay is being released from the hospital. Scott has talked her into coming home. But she needs her family. She needs you, just as much as she needs him. It's an all or nothing kind of thing."

  "So, no pressure, right?" I joke, and he shakes his head.

  "No, Pey. This is all the pressure. I'm not going to lie to you about that. Scott and Lindsay are doing worse than we are, and we aren't even living in the same fucking state since you moved in with Brody. We're falling apart. I don't know that Scott’ll survive losing Lindsay. I need you to come home, because I can't lose my best friend and the love of my life. And we don't work without all of us."