by A. Marie
I flick another glance toward our bedrooms, saying, “No.”
“Why?”
His question is quick like a cat on a mouse and I wonder if he’s playing with me in the same way. Batting me around for his own amusement.
He’ll have to get his kicks somewhere else though. The laugh that leaves my mouth next is humorless and pointed.
“Look, sorry again for disturbing you. I realize you had a date over.” Another glimpse at the empty hall. “And I probably interrupted-”
“You didn’t.”
The look he gives me is full of arrogance, daring me to push the matter. See where it leads.
But I won’t. I shouldn’t care where it might take me even if a part of me—an itty, bitty part of me—is mentally already down the hall, throwing his door wide open just to see for myself.
“Well, regardless, it won’t happen again.”
“You could’ve called me, you know.” He sips his coffee, never breaking eye contact. “To pick you up. You were in pretty bad shape.”
Sticking by his innuendo-dipped tongue, his eyes caress my entire body, starting at my toes. By the time he makes it to my suddenly parched throat, I lean toward him without meaning to. An arrogant smirk slashes across his mouth like a tally mark, righting me almost instantly.
Smug bastard.
“My shape is always on point, but thanks for keeping tabs.” His eyes flare and now I’m the one smirking. “You sure your attention isn’t better spent elsewhere though? Maybe on a certain princess in a Lexus?” My voice raises just enough for any eavesdroppers but I keep my gaze on his, not really interested in seeing her anymore. And she can’t have my pancakes either.
Beckett pushes off the counter while I do the same, meeting him in the middle, less than a foot apart. I swear my refusal to be intimidated will be the death of me. That or The Headache.
“You sound jealous.” My snicker is covered by him adding, “But don’t worry, I have more than enough attention to go around. Let me know if you want on the roster. I’ll see if I can fit you in.”
The tall asshole grabs a handful of pancakes before walking around me, taking a huge bite as he leaves.
Forget the throb in my head, the only thing I can focus on now is the pulsing between my thighs and damn if I didn’t just find the cure for The Headache.
Too bad it’s at the oversized hands of my off-limits roommate.
* * *
After a relatively quiet breakfast with Marc, I get him to drive me back to the bar I left my bike at. His BMW breathes sex like it was made for that very reason. The red and black seats are tailored for comfort and functionality for any position you might find yourself in. The sound system exhales deep beats of bass in a hypnotizing rhythm. The smell is leather and man—there’s no other way to describe it. Marc is all man and his car is the testosterone-soaked cherry on top.
I slant a look at him, finding his flame tattooed arms flexed as one wrist rests overtop the steering wheel, the veins in his forearms pronounced enough to make a starring role in any phlebotomist’s wet dream. His close to the scalp cut is partly covered with a baseball hat today and his caramel skin looks painfully smooth aside from some kind of brush burn just below his sharp jawline. His long black lashes rarely blink, allowing for his dark eyes to take in everything without interruption. His shirt’s armpits are cut to his damn hip bones, showing off the tight muscles that make up his entire torso. Relaxed fit jeans with high tops complete the swagged-out look he rocks on the regular. He’s even got a cut above his right eyebrow that looks fresh.
The man is hot in all the right ways and there’s no doubt he’d make for a fantastic bed buddy—if I were interested. Fortunately, I’m not. First and foremost, he’s my roommate and I can’t ruin the sweet set-up I’ve got going living with him and his annoying bestie.
Which brings up reason number two—Beckett. While he’s also my roommate, I can’t deny he’s got something over me. Something I can’t quite put my finger on and it’s not just his towering height. The guy drives me crazy, has from the second our eyes collided that first day, and I don’t think about him the same way I think about his friend. I like to look at Marc. I can’t stop looking at Beckett. At him, around him, behind him. What the hell is his deal?
Marc asks about last night, wondering how mad Beckett got.
I shrug, staring out the window. “Not too bad. If anything, I think he was more irritated he was pulled away from his date.”
He surprises me with a low rumble resembling a laugh. When I turn my head his way, he says, “She left right after you did. That wasn’t his problem.”
That has me staying quiet the rest of the short trip.
I don’t know what Beckett’s issue was last night then. Was he really pissed at me for coming home drunk? And more importantly, why would he be? It’s not like these guys don’t drink themselves. The fridge at home has more beer than food, the freezer’s even worse with hard alcohol, and don’t even get me started on the cart in the living room dedicated solely to cocktails.
Before parting ways, Marc invites me to one of their Friday night family dinners sometime. I accept, knowing a meal with my new roommates and their close friends will be a step in the right direction. Since I work Friday nights, I won’t be drinking and I can see if that changes Beckett’s attitude toward me.
* * *
Back on my white pony, I breeze through town with last night’s events still on my mind. The details from the night before are like looking through a steamed-up window on a humid day, I can see everything but it’s slightly blurred. As the stubborn mist wears off, I’m able to remember more and I’m beginning to wonder how the hell Beckett heard anything in the first place, especially if he wasn’t up entertaining like I’d first assumed. Marc’s room is the closest to the front door so it’d make more sense for him to be upset over my drunk and disorderly conduct, yet he acted like he didn’t know about any of it.
Tysen meets me in the front of the furniture store with his pick-up and together we get Mom’s recliner into the bed. My body continues to rid the toxins from last night in the form of rivers of sweat cascading down my face like spring waterfalls and I soak up as much of it as I can using the bottom of my gray tank. The growing puddles show on the light fabric but I can’t bring myself to care. My newfound 6’6” remedy pushed from my mind has brought my hangover to the forefront once again and my head is absolutely swimming. The thought has me imagining the cold water of Creekwood’s pool so I invite Ty to join me for a dip before we deliver the chair to Sunbrook all while crossing my fingers he doesn’t see through my thinly veiled attempt to prolong our time together. I was lucky enough to get him out of the house today thanks to a promise to buy him dinner.
My brother and I race to the apartment, ignoring the car horns honking as we weave through traffic. Tysen, being the middle child, is the glue that holds the family together. He’s the chameleon of the family, too, a shapeshifter of sorts. He is whoever we need him to be to keep the peace. He doesn’t like any discord and will go to any length to keep everyone happy. He blends with our grumpier, more serious, older siblings but can also keep pace with me and Nicky when we try to lighten things up.
“I think you dropped your exhaust pipe back there,” I joke from my seat on the stairs when he finally pulls up. Riding a street bike has its advantages in traffic, like cutting through lanes like softened butter.
Tysen looks adoringly at his truck, rubbing the hood. I got my love of fast things from him. Unfortunately, I also got my love for junkers from him, too. The old Ford is dripping oil all over the two parking spaces it’s taking up.
“Old Bessie’s been needing to lose a few pounds. It was probably good for her.”
He pretends to shine the rusty grill, making me snort.
“Bessie is the definition of a Ford—Found On Road Dead.”
“Not as long as I can help it.”
Ty spends more time fixing up the clunker than he does workin
g, which is one of many reasons why I’m footing the bill for our mom’s new place. I love the boy but he needs to pick a lane in life already, and not the one currently slicked in oil from his beloved whip.
We swim the afternoon away, lazily soaking in the sun while shooting the shit. Tysen is the easiest to be around because of his uncanny abilities but I often wonder what kind of a toll it takes on him to always be on. To always be who he thinks others want instead of being who he actually is. Even with Mom, I’ve watched as he slips into the role of charming stranger looking for a gossip buddy when a couple years ago he was seeking her approval at every turn, waiting for her to notice his good deeds and shower him with affection.
But like all families affected by Alzheimer’s, we have a part to play.
I work to keep my emotions in check all day to ease some of his own. I’d take all of his worries on if he’d let me. I’d take on everyone’s.
I am taking on everyone’s.
Most people think being the oldest is the hardest, always having to lead by example, looking out for the others. But I’ve always thought the youngest has it the worst, seeing everyone’s prior mistakes laid out for you like a mine field, each step you take measured and deliberated before you even set foot on the ground. Growing up the youngest means being shown what others want you to see, varied versions of the truth, forcing you to develop a sixth sense for sniffing out the hidden facts being kept from your presumed naïve mind. Some may choose to stay blind to the uncomfortable truths but not me. I’ve always dug around, searching for the real story, regardless how unpleasant the outcome. And studying Tysen now, I can tell something’s weighing him down. His smiles are a little too tight, his laughs a little too loud. He thinks I need comic relief but all I really want is for my family to be okay. Nobody can hold another up while crumbling themselves.
That’s also how I knew Mom needed to be moved out of the other facility while the boys were ignorantly paying for subpar care for the woman who raised us. Her sudden departure from any sort of reality should’ve been their first clue but none of them work in the health field so I let that one slide. The constant missed meals paired with the rapid weight loss was a dead giveaway though, so I stepped in and took over all medical concerns regarding our mother, moving her to Sunbrook as soon as I could swing enough money to get her in. It’s still a sensitive issue between the five of us but I refuse to back down. I don’t rub it in their faces that they chose a shitty home to put our mom in so they have nothing to complain about in my mind. If anything, I just put money back in their pockets while prolonging our only parent’s life. Sure, she can’t remember any of us but she raised us as best she could, mostly by herself, and while she’s still alive it’s our responsibility—our honor—to return the same, if not better care. I’d sell everything I have to ensure the rest of her days are lived out as comfortably as possible, memory loss or not. I don’t want recognition; the ability to see my mother’s face a little longer is the only incentive I need.
“How’s Mom doing at the new place?” he asks as if reading my mind. “Is she getting along with everyone?”
My hands swirl in the water beside my raft, making ripples without even meaning to. There’s a sign stating pool floaties are restricted and when the manager came out earlier to enforce it, all I had to do was drop my apartment number and she left me to float in peace. Maybe that’s their hook-up? Marc told me before I moved in that we had certain…amenities others didn’t. I’m still not sure what exactly that means, or how, but the woman was pretty young and attractive, so it’s not that hard to imagine. I can’t picture it being Marc since she lives like right there and maybe that’s too close for someone like him? I don’t know.
And in order to keep my lunch down, I definitely don’t consider my other roommate sleeping with the landlady.
I know if I was her and only had a quiet complex to manage, I’d be spending my days at the pool any chance I got, except this was the first time I’ve ever seen her and she acted like she was too busy—no, not too busy, like she was flustered—to even come down those stairs she lives at the top of.
“She’s okay. Not as responsive as I would’ve thought honestly. She sits alone in every setting, preferring to still be by herself instead of joining in with the others. She’s eating but I’m not sure how much.” We log everything from brushing teeth and bathing to meal consumption and bowel movements but ever since she arrived at Sunbrook, her chart’s been missing information. I’m not there during the day to know whose fault it is or why it’s incomplete at all, but I’ve brought it up to my boss already so hopefully it gets resolved soon. “She’s had a couple…lapses since she’s been there,” I say, remembering that family photo sitting on her nightstand, “so maybe she is improving. You should visit soon. When are you and Clarise visiting her again?”
His eyes drop and mine narrow for the first time this afternoon.
Clarise and Ty are high school sweethearts and have been together ever since, even after graduating six years ago. They used to visit my mom at least a couple times a week before.
Before.
Before everyone in the Christensen family decided to go their own way.
“Maybe.”
“Ty.” I wait until he meets my eyes again. “You’re the only one that visits her regularly besides me. If you’re pissed at me for yanking her out of that shithole, please, please don’t take it out on her. She needs us. We’re all she has left even if she doesn’t know it. Caleb’s work schedule is crazy and he can’t get away and Nicky is, well, Nicky. He’s sensitive and takes it personally every time Mom doesn’t remember him.”
“When was the last time Jesse saw her?”
I shake my head softly. “I don’t know, but it’s been a while. He’s having a rough time, too.”
Ty mutters something about him not being the only one but the sound of a sliding door opening has us lifting our heads. Beckett stands at the banister of our back balcony. Creekwood is broken up into three sections forming a broken U shape with the pool in the middle. Our apartment is in the central hub and has two balconies—one facing the parking lot, one overlooking the pool area.
“Is that your other roommate or are gearheads your thing now?”
Unable to take my eyes off the arctic blue ones locked on mine, I just say, “Yeah.” Maybe to both, maybe not. I don’t know anymore but Tysen doesn’t push further so I don’t either.
Beckett’s eyebrow lifts and I finally rip my eyes away only to find my brother missing. Suddenly, I’m airborne and landing face first in the deep end sans floatie.
Breaking the water, I yell out a watery, “Asshole!”
“What?” he asks innocently, totally not fooling anyone. “It looked like you needed to cool off.” His gaze raises so mine follows. Finding the balcony empty doesn’t surprise me. Big guy is probably off pouting again.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s go drop that chair off. It’s almost time for my shift anyway. What did you decide you want for dinner?”
He jiggles a sunburnt shoulder. “I hear the place down the street has good salads.”
My jaw drops. “Jesse told you?”
“That you tried to poison him with your health food? He did.”
I roll my eyes, busy climbing the ladder out of the pool.
“You guys are so immature.”
Tysen joins me as I towel off, grabbing one for himself as well.
“I know you are but what am I?”
Giving him my best annoyed look, I ask, “seriously?” before turning to leave.
I hear a “yep” next to my ear a second before I’m pushed back into the cold water, towel and all.
Oh, it’s on.
CHAPTER 7
Paige
I’m finishing up with the last of my charts for the night when Vernon appears in the nurses’ station. His graying hair is slicked back and he’s sporting a new watch—another new one. Nurses don’t have glamorous jobs to begin with then you throw in our required
uniform of basic scrubs every day and it can seriously stifle some people’s sense of style. I’ve seen people try to mix things up with little details here and there as a way to still express themselves, and watches, which are a requirement for our line of work, are a popular way to do it. I always wear my smartwatch but Vernon would never bother with something so popular. I’ve seen him with no less than seven different watches since I started working here, each one fancier than the last. This one is so shiny I almost miss the storm forming across his pinched face.
Ever since Beckett’s interference a couple weeks ago, Vernon’s kept his distance, minus the nasty looks aimed my way I still catch when he thinks I’m not looking.
I grew up with four brothers—I’m always looking over my shoulder.
I ignore him altogether, standing to retrieve my bag.
Waiting until my feet cross the threshold, Vernon sneers, “Snitch.”
The area is empty, save for the old grump and myself. I spin to face Vernon, whose eyes are now tiny slits of fury.
“Do you have something you’d like to say to me?” Keeping my voice clear but low for his ears only, I lean casually against the counter, acting like I’m not itching to get out of here. I figured my first Friday night dinner with my roommates’ family would be a perfect excuse to get my family together, too. So far, I’ve gotten exactly zero replies from tonight’s invite though, not even from Tysen who never turns down free food.
“I think you heard me just fine, snitch. You tattled to Rosie that ‘I wasn’t doing my job’.” He says this with wrinkled fingers shaped into quotation marks, like it’s some far-fetched notion.
“No, I simply informed Rosie Ms. Christensen’s chart has been lacking important information lately. If you’re to blame for that as the floor nurse, then maybe you haven’t been doing your job.”
“Your mommy hasn’t been eating her regular meals which means I can’t give her the medication she needs. Hers must be taken on a full stomach but she hasn’t had one of those since you forced her to switch facilities unnecessarily.” The jab has me pinching the material at my hips between my thumb and middle finger. “It’s not my job to feed the patients and I refuse to give special treatment to anybody, even if you don’t.”