Fall Guy

by Liz Reinhardt

  The day of the fight, the day after the perfect night I spent in Evan’s arms, Andre had stared at his hands in the backseat of my car for a few minutes after turning down more money than I know the kid’s entire family put together had seen in a year.

  I was pissed because I’d dropped Evan at her grandparents’ house after breaking every promise I tried to make, probably right along with her heart. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I just wanted this punk out of my car, and I wanted to stop fucking up every single time I tried to make things work with Evan.

  Not so much to ask for, right?

  “I love her.” Andre completely interrupted my run of self-loathing. He lifted his eyes, dark and totally belligerent, and glared at me from the backseat.

  “You’re, what? Seventeen?”

  I flicked my eyes, focused and controlled from years of experience, to the reflection of his seething ones in the rearview mirror.

  “Eighteen in three days.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Alright. She’s gonna be seventeen in four months. You two are babies still, okay? You’ll meet other people. You’ll get over this.”

  I tossed the words at him, and they came out harsher around the edges than I meant them to. What did this kid know about love and loss and screwing it all up?

  “You have no idea.” His mouth twisted in a sneer that was half rage, half pity. “The way you dropped your girl off like that? I never would have left Ithaca that way.”

  “You have no idea what goes on between me and Evan.” My voice cut out, cold with warning.

  “I know she was upset and you let her go. I know she had things to say to you, and you didn’t listen. Ithaca and I aren’t like that. I care about what she thinks and how she feels. I’m going to be there for her, no matter what.”

  The look on his face was more ballsy than I would have expected in response to my stare-down, and it irritated the shit out of me.

  “You think you know a single fucking thing about how life works? I have more people to look out for than you could imagine. I have more responsibility than you could know, and I’ve had it since I was younger than you are now. I can’t just drop everything because of the way I feel. I have people depending on me.”

  My blood pressure was definitely on the rise, and the look of total disrespect in the little douchebag’s eyes wasn’t helping me keep my cool.

  He popped the door open and gave me a last look, one full of bravado.

  “Tell your family I wouldn’t take a damn cent from any one of them. And I know you got a lot people to worry about, but you can subtract Ithaca from your little list. Because I’ll be the one taking care of that girl for the rest of my life.”

  He slid out of the backseat and slammed the car door, strutting into his rickety house without a backward glance in my direction.

  I drove home with a bad taste in my mouth and thought about what that little shit said for hours. Days. The entire long week.

  I thought about it when I drove past Evan’s house, trying to catch a glimpse through her bedroom window like some sad stalker.

  I thought about it when I picked up the phone to call her a dozen times but never did.

  I’m still thinking about it when I go to pick up Remy, drunk, fresh from a brawl, shirtless, and shoe-less, passed out in front of some dive bar.

  I watch my brother chatter to himself, curl into the fetal position, and weep into the seat of my car. He needs help. He needs some kind of rehab or something, but I know my parents will never say yes to letting anyone outside of the family in, not even a counselor or therapist. Every priest we know is too caught up in my family’s glory and too swayed by the crazy amounts of money and stained glass and new robes the Youngblood family donates to ever interfere, even if my brother’s life is at stake.

  When I get home, my father shoos Colt, all wide-eyed and shaky, back to the den and helps me heft Remy into his room. My father looks at Remy, a slobbering, sobbing, shaking, skeletal version of himself and says, “Tell your mother to make a pot of strong coffee and let’s get out of here so he can sleep it off.”

  No one says anything else about it, not even when Remy pukes so long and hard, it finally comes up blood. My parents have a hushed argument in the kitchen that ends with my father’s firm ‘no’ and my mother’s tearful acceptance.

  My dad comes to my room, his eyes bloodshot and the lines in his face deep. “Call about getting the carpeting in Remington’s room replaced tomorrow. Top priority.”

  “Yes, sir.” I watch his back as he leaves me in my room.

  Carpet.

  Top priority.

  Days go by and I argue with myself, Evan and Andre’s words screaming in my head, and I wake up with a pretty clear realization.

  The kid was right.

  Evan was right.

  I’ve been kidding myself for a long time.

  I also realize I have no clue what to do, what to really do, to fix this whole damn mess. It was easy for me to let go of Evan because I told myself it was for her own good.

  Really, it was so I didn’t have to face some hard truths. And, of course, just when I resolve to change shit, just when I’m resolved to do things right, the chaos dominoes start tipping over and the Youngblood family implodes all around me.

  It starts with Ithaca barging into my room twenty minutes before community service.

  “What the hell did you say to him?” she screams, her face so distorted with bald fury, she looks almost ugly.

  “Say to who? Calm down.”

  I move forward, attempt to put my hands on her shoulders, but she jumps back like I’m a venomous snake.

  “Calm down? Fuck off!” Her voice carries through the entire house.

  Benelli cracks her door open and peeks out.

  “What’s going on?” she asks, her voice low. “Ithy, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  Ithaca throws herself into our sister’s arms and weeps, Benelli looks at me with her eyebrows furrowed, and Colt opens his door and crowds the hallway.

  “Andre Ortiz enlisted in the army.” Colt pushes his dark hair out of his eyes, and I’d take an arms-held-back beating rather than have to face the look of disappointment he’s shooting my way.

  Ithaca’s sobs are muffled in Benelli’s shoulder. Benelli looks from Colt to me and back. “Oh no. The skateboard boy?”

  Ithaca wrenches her head from Benelli and points an accusing finger at her. “You’re laughing at me? You? Out of everyone in this entire fucked-up family, I thought you would understand, Bee! I thought you’d get how much this hurts!”

  My sisters glare at each other, a deep current of secrets tossing between them with a force that could drown us all.

  “I do understand. I wasn’t making a joke.” Benelli’s voice is so urgent and nervous, I wonder what she’s hiding. “It’s not the end of the world, sweetie. He’s a smart guy. He’ll do fine.”

  My little sister fists her hands in all that pretty gold hair, now tangled and wild-looking. “Josh Ranson’s brother died in Afghanistan a few months ago. Jessica Lister’s brother got his leg and hand blown off.” The sobs start low and deep in her throat. “He’s not cut out for this! He got accepted to an art school in Philadelphia. And I told him he could get loans and grants. We were filling out all the paperwork. Then he said he needed to take care of me, and he went off and just signed up. And you can’t undo that. The recruiters make you sign a contract.” She whirls around and jumps at me, her fists hammering at my chest. “What did you say to him? What did you say when you dropped him off that day?”

  “Nothing,” I lie. “Lots of young guys join the army, Ithaca. Especially when they don’t have much going for them.”

  Her mouth drops open and her green eyes flash. “You think he didn’t have much going for him? Really? You? The guy who’s job is being Pop’s puppet—”

  “Ithaca,” Benelli hisses. “That’s enough.” Her tone goes gentle when Ithaca’s li
ps tremble and she slides into a heap on the floor. My sisters kneel, side by side. “It’s okay, baby. Stop crying. Andre will be fine. You’ll be fine. It’s going to be okay.”

  Ithaca’s face swings up, her eyes hollowed. “What did you say to him, Winch? Stop lying all the time and tell me.”

  “I didn’t tell him to join the fucking army, that’s for sure.” Colt snorts and Benelli and I both shoot him a look. “You got something to say?”

  It’s like all this intense rage and upset and anger flashes on his face for a quick second, but he shuts it down and goes neutral.

  Seeing my little brother employ my tactics gives me a peculiar twist of self-loathing I probably didn’t need piled on my shoulders today.

  Colt shakes his head. “No. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  Benelli stands her full height, hands on her hips, face all pink from pissed-off rage. “You know what? You two better learn some goddamn respect, okay? Winch does things everyday neither one of you would even want to think about. He does things for all of us. He didn’t get to go to some cushy private school. He didn’t get to run around and play ball and go on dates. So if either one of you have something to say about how much he’s messing with your little lives, maybe you should do it after you thank him.”

  The fury in her voice silences the twins. They both stare at the floor.

  I don’t know what to say. I’m glad Benelli stood up for me, but I don’t want their thanks. Our baby brother and sister are right. Maybe they come from a place where they can see it for what it is in a way Benelli and I just can’t.

  Before I can answer anything, Remy stumbles into the light, and all four of us face our older brother.

  His lips are ringed with crusted blood. His skin is yellowish, sagging on his face, and dipped in close to his bones like a skeleton’s. He’s been going downhill for a while, but maybe I just never let myself notice how bad it was getting. He looks like a vampire or a zombie, or some other pieced-together night creature from a horror movie.

  “What’s up chickens?” he slurs, lumbering down the hallway on unsteady feet. “Ya’ll were so loud, you woke me up.”

  Benelli’s lips tuck into a tight line, Ithaca looks at him with clear terror, and Colt can barely keep the disgust at bay.

  “Remington, you need a shower, some hot soup, and to get back in bed. I’ll tell Mama to start you some lunch.” Benelli looks as grimly determined as a captain in the army marching her troops to certain death.

  “No rest for the wicked, baby.” Remy sniffs under his armpit. “No rest, but yes to a shower.”

  It would have been something we would have all laughed about not all that long ago. When did Remy stop being our favorite comic relief and turn into a macabre reminder of every single thing that’s so fucked-up about our family?

  “Why are you all so damn serious?” His eyes attempt to focus on one of our faces, then the next, and the next. He can’t stop himself from rocking back on his heels and swiveling in a wide circle. “Someone die?”

  You died.

  I know the same thought is at the forefront of all our brains. We all knew he’d been bad for a while, but his downward spiral sped up in the last few weeks. How did he turn into this reanimated corpse version of himself right in front of our eyes?

  “No.” Benelli’s voice is gentle as a nanny’s. “Come on. You need food.”

  “He needs help,” Ithaca says, watching Benelli help Remy walk down the hall on rickety legs like he’s ninety.

  “That’s Winch’s job. Right?” Colt slides a glare my way, his mouth working back and forth like he’s wondering if he should spit out the words pressed in his mouth. And then he does. My pacifist brother sure as shit knows how to kick me when I’m low down. “By the way, I forgot to say thank you.”

  He stalks to his room and slams his door.

  “This family is so seriously fucked-up,” Ithaca mutters and slams her door.

  I’m alone in the hallway, a headache grinding through my skull, a feeling of complete despair eating at my gut.

  And I’m late to community service.

  By the time I pull up at the center, they’re already dismissing people who put in hours this morning.

  “Mr. Youngblood.” The officer in charge frowns when I check in. “We don’t tolerate late arrivals.”

  “I’m very sorry, ma’am. I’ll do whatever you need. This won’t happen again.”

  I scan the area for Evan, and should be glad I don’t see her.

  I shouldn’t see her.

  I made so many promises I could never begin to keep, I feel like a huge loser. I feel like I have no right to ask anything of her when I’ve basically given her nothing. I haven’t even had the guts to call and check on her.

  I get handed a shovel and pointed in the direction of a smoldering garbage pit. I shovel through the debris and ash and keep the fire going strong. I take a handkerchief Rolo hands me, not even worried if it’s full of germs and gunk because I’d be choking on the thick smoke if it wasn’t for him.

  I want Evan.

  I think about her constantly. If I’m honest with myself, for once, I’ve hardly thought about anything else for days, since she got out of my car and walked up the steps to her grandparents’ house.

  I dream about her. I wake up hard and ready, wanting her with every uncontrolled shred of my body.

  I look for her every time I stand up with a shovelful of smoldering garbage.

  I don’t deserve her. I’ve wasted second and third chances with her.

  I’ve been an idiot.

  But none of that stops me from wanting her.

  So badly it aches.

  I’m sick of doing the right thing and ignoring all the desire that’s built up inside me for her. I want her. I want her in every way there is to want a girl, and I want her more than all that, too.

  I shovel and choke until it’s time to leave, and I’m completely covered in grime. No amount of standing under the dribbling hose is going to wash this all off.

  “You wanna come out with a couple of the guys? Play some pool, drink some beers?” Rolo never usually invites me to go anywhere, but most of the time, I’m calm and laid-back. Today I’ve been a furious dickhead, and, unfortunately, Rolo took the brunt of my asshole behavior. I guess he figures I could use a drink or five.

  “Thanks, man.” I try to hand his handkerchief back, but he waves it off. “Look, I’m sorry I was an asshole to work with today. I’m just having a whole thing with Evan and my family.”

  I’ve never been big on sharing how I feel, and it’s just as awkward as I thought it might be.

  Rolo switches his weight from foot to foot. “I’m sorry, bro. That sucks.”

  He’s not inviting me to tell him anything else, but the words just kind of spill out. “I love her. Evan, you know?” He nods. “But my family…they ask a lot of me. And it’s been coming between us.”

  “You still work for your old man?”

  Rolo runs the weakly dribbling water over his arms and passes the hose my way again.

  It’s stupid to even pretend that it’s going to help get me clean, but I drizzle the water over my skin so I have an excuse to stand here and hash this all out with him.

  “Yeah. I do. I just…it’s complicated, you know because it’s work and all, but it’s more family.”

  “Oh, I get it.” Rolo rubs his dirty handkerchief over his face and neck, taking the black soot down to a dull gray. “Family helps you every time you need a hand, but they cross every damn line, too.”

  That’s it.

  “Exactly. And I’m just trying to figure out how much I owe them and how much I can take for myself, I guess.”

  I thought my filth couldn’t be washed off, but even these few minutes of tepid, tricking water and this thin handkerchief are taking the grime away, layer by minuscule layer.

  “Well, you know, family is good and all. You need them. But you gotta do your thing, too. Remember, at some point
your dad was just his father’s son, too. And he had to grow up and be his own man. I’m gonna bet that didn’t happen without some shit going down, right?”

  Rolo yanks his sweaty shirt back over his head.

  I put mine back on, too, and think about my father and grandfather. I barely knew my father’s father. What little I gathered from family visits to Hungary was that he ruled the family with an iron fist, and my father was more than happy to take his shares and control of the family business across the Atlantic to start something on his own.

  “I never really thought about that,” I admit. “Listen, thanks for the invite, but I think I better go find Evan and get things back under control.”

  “Do what you have to do. Maybe some other time?”

  I grab his hand in a rough mix of a slap and a shake. “Yeah. Definitely. Soon.”

  Driving to Evan’s house, I feel more lost than I ever have in my entire life.

  A few weeks ago, I knew exactly where I was going and what I was doing. Now every single thing I thought I knew for sure has been shaken. I don’t know how I feel about my family, my future, my place, my beliefs.

  The only thing I know for sure is that Evan has helped me change everything, and, whatever the hell my future might hold, I want her in it.

  I get to her house and go right to the front door. I stink. I’m dirty as hell. I won’t make a remotely decent first impression if one of her grandparents opens the door, but I don’t care. I’m on the verge of exploding, freaking out, finding a new path, forging a new way, and I need her at my side.

  I can’t do this without her at my side.

  A woman with silver hair opens the door and presses a hand covered with tons of rings to her chest when she sees me. She looks over my shoulder, like she’s trying to see if I’ve got my gang behind me, ready to jump her, and then she looks back at me with unapologetic suspicion.

  “Can I help you?”

  “My name is Winchester Youngblood. I’m here to see Evan, ma’am. If she isn’t busy.”

  I wish I’d gone home to change. And had a shower. But ‘home’ is relevant at the moment, and the only place that feels like somewhere I belong is wherever Evan is. I know how I look, I know how I sound, but my head’s been spinning for weeks, and I know, I know without a doubt, that seeing her will calm things down, put things to right.