“I love you, Pop,” I said softly.
His eyes opened slightly.
He smiled a faint smile and moved his hand.
“I’m here, Pop. Tegan and mom went to get coffee. They’ll be right back.”
He nodded slightly and curled his finger toward his palm. I moved to the head of the bed and leaned over him. “What is it, Pop.”
He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and spoke in a faint whisper. “I need to tell you something.”
I leaned over him, placing my ear close to his mouth.
He swallowed a few times. “Ice.”
I grabbed the Styrofoam cup from the bedside table, fished out a few chips of ice, and dropped them in his mouth.
He blinked his eyes.
After swallowing, he spoke softly. “I told you the two most memorable moments in a man’s life.”
I nodded. “When a man kisses the woman he’s going to marry for the first time, and then when he marries her.”
He blinked his eyes.
“I want to tell you the third most memorable,” he said, his voice faint and dry.
Don’t leave me, Pop.
Not yet.
I bit into my lower lip, nodded, and leaned over him.
“Third most memorable moment,” he whispered. “Is when that man and that woman give birth to a child.” With frail fingers, he squeezed my hand. “I love you, Son.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Or tried to, at least.
I fought away the tears. “I love you, Pop.”
He blinked. And, then, again.
His eyes fell closed.
“Pop?” I gently patted his shoulder. “Stay with me. Mom and Tegan are gonna be right back.”
He opened his eyes.
“You dip-shit,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got an anniversary coming up.”
A sigh shot from my lungs.
Thank God.
If nothing else, he still had his attitude.
I cleared my throat. “Doctor said you had another heart attack. They might want to do another ablation. Said it could--”
“These doctors are dumbfucks,” he said. “Not one of these pricks could find his ass with both hands.”
“But--”
He shook his head. “No.”
The doctor said having an ablation procedure was his only chance at survival. The last time he had one, he almost didn’t make it through the operation. Twice, they had to resurrect him with the paddles. In the end, the operation took eight hours. At that time, he said he’d never do it again.
It was the only answer, though. He was stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid.
“But--”
“But nothing,” he said, and then he coughed. “Not doing that again. I saw the fuckin’ light last time. Not interested.”
“Pop…”
He closed his eyes.
My mother and Tegan walked in. Mom stepped to the opposite side of the bed. Tegan walked to my side and handed me a coffee.
“He woke up,” I said. “But I think he’s delirious.”
He opened his eyes, searched the room, and focused on Tegan. “Hey, kid.”
“How you doing, Bradley?”
“Been better.”
“You need to get better,” she said. “You’ve got an anniversary coming up.”
He nodded. “Your hair looks like shit.”
She choked on her laugh. “Me?”
He blinked. “Yeah.”
She reached for her hair. “Helmet head,” she said with a smile.
“How was it?” he asked. “Fun?”
She nodded. “It was great.”
“Dumb ass go the speed limit?”
“The entire way,” she lied.
He tried to smile, and then shifted his eyes to me. “Keep her safe.”
“I will,” I assured him.
“You do that.” He closed his eyes. “I’m going to take a little nap.”
And he fell asleep.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Tegan
Bradley had somehow elbowed his way into my life in a way that no other man had. He made a place for himself in one of the voids in my heart, and then resided there without even asking permission.
He had proven to me that love can find you when you least expect it, even if you’re not searching for it.
“What the fuck is this?”
I grinned. “Breakfast.”
“What’s this meat?” He lifted a piece of the turkey bacon and wagged it up and down. After a few gestures, it broke in two. He looked down at the plate. “Looks like fuckin’ cardboard.”
“It’s bacon.”
“I ain’t eating that shit, kid. Make me some bacon that comes from a pig’s ass.”
“The doctor said--”
“Fuck that doctor. He doesn’t have to eat this shit.”
I snatched the plate from his hand. “You’re impossible, Bradley.”
“Eating that shit you’re trying to feed me is impossible.”
I set the plate aside, cooked four pieces of bacon, made toast, and fried two fresh eggs. After carrying the two plates to the living room, I handed him one.
“Thank you.”
I nodded. “Keep it between you and me.”
“You can count on it.”
I ate the eggs and toast, and forced myself to eat the bacon. It was terrible, and although it didn’t taste like cardboard, it wasn’t much better.
He looked up. “Awful, ain’t it?”
“Uh huh.”
He finished his food and set the plate aside. “Tell me about you and my boy. How’s it going?”
We’d been seeing each other for three weeks. Somehow, we managed to see each other every day, if even for a short period of time. I tried to remain optimistic about it, but it wasn’t easy.
Regardless, I was happier than I’d ever been in a relationship.
“It’s going good.”
“Good?” He inhaled a long breath, exhaled, and shook his head in clear disgust. “What the fuck kind of answer is that?”
“I really enjoy our time together.”
“That’s better,” he said. “But I always enjoyed my time with my coworkers. Didn’t make them special.”
“Our time is special.”
“Has he kissed you?”
My face flushed. I grabbed a loose strand of hair and twisted in in circles. “Yeah.”
His eyebrows raised. “And?”
I continued twisting my hair. Then, I giggled. “What?”
“I don’t need all the gory details, but condense how it made you feel into one word. Just one. One you’d play on the Scrabble board.”
My response was immediate. “Special.”
“Now, summarize the entire kissing experience into one word.”
Again, my answer was already at the tip of my tongue. “P-E-R-F-E-C-T. Perfect. It was the perfect kiss.”
“You know.” He raised his index finger. “Sex can be great, yet mean absolutely nothing. But a great kiss? A great kiss can’t be dismissed. A great kiss must be accepted as being exactly what it is.”
I gazed back at him with needy eyes. I wanted more. “And just what is a great kiss?”
“A great kiss is a sign.”
“Of?”
“What’s to come.” He grinned. “A great kiss is a sign of what’s to come.”
“What’s to come?” I asked, eager for more of his wisdom.
“That depends,” he said. “On whether or not you’re willing to open your heart.”
I let his response sink in. After a few moments of thought, I stood and gathered the plates.
As I rinsed the dishes, I decided he was right.
The kiss was a sign.
And, it was time to open my heart.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Pee Bee
The paint on the inside of the shop was half finished. The solid beige was much more inviting than the mixture of colors it had been th
ere for the last ten years.
I draped my arm over Tegan’s shoulder, and nodded toward the north wall. “Looks good, huh?”
“Looks great.”
The sound of Crip’s bike in the distance gave warning of his approach. “Look alive, Prospects. He’s coming around the corner.”
The two prospects who were assigned to painting duty splattered the paint onto the walls frantically.
Crip pulled into the shop and rolled to a stop beside Peyton’s Jeep. He took off his glasses, gazed at the wall, and then glared at me.
What?
He looked at the wall and shook his head.
With his eyes still fixed on the wall, he let go of his helmet, and before it hit the floor, he kicked it with the toe of his boot.
It slid twenty feet or so before rolling to stop.
Oh shit.
He folded his arms in front of his chest, inhaled a deep breath, and then looked at the north wall. “What color’s that?”
I shrugged. “Beige.”
“Not white?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Beige.”
He tilted his head back slightly. “Which one of you two fuck-bubbles picked out the paint?” he shouted.
Scratch pointed at Duckett. “He picked it out.”
“Both of you two dumb fucks come here,” Crip howled. “Move!”
Duckett hopped off his ladder, and Scratch laid his roller to the side. They both scrambled to where we were standing and looked at Crip no differently than kids who had been called to the principal’s office.
“You.” He pointed at Scratch’s chest. “Are on my shit-list for being a snitch. Never snitch out another man. You should have kept your fucking mouth shut.”
He pointed at Duckett. “And you are on my shit-list for picking out the wrong fucking color. What color did I say?”
Duckett lowered his head. “White.”
Crip nodded toward the painted wall. “And that’s beige?”
Duckett nodded.
“Is beige white?”
“No, Sir.”
“It sure as fuck isn’t,” Crip hissed. “I said I wanted white, and I want white. We’re not having a fucking kegger, you dumb fuck. This isn’t a club barbeque, and it’s not some home fucking makeover television show. It’s a god damned anniversary party. White and fucking gold. White and motherfucking gold. Go get some new god damned paint and repaint this entire fucking shop.”
They stood wide-eyed, and stared.
“Go!” Crip shouted.
The two men scattered like rats.
“I thought it looked good,” I said.
He gazed at the wall and shook his head. “Beige and gold would look like shit. No contrast. It’s got to be white.”
“If you say so.”
“Your parents have been married fifty fucking years, Peeb. I want this to be a special day for ‘em.”
I pulled Tegan close. “It will be.”
Crip looked at Peyton, and then at Tegan. “And you two are in charge of decorations. I’ve got a grand set aside in the safe for whatever you want, as long as it’s gold. Go to the Lobby Hobby or whatever it’s called in La Mesa, or wherever, and get a bunch of shit to spruce this place up.”
Tegan looked at Peyton and grinned. “I’ve got some ideas, but maybe we’ll go somewhere else.”
“I got ideas, too,” Peyton said.
“Follow me,” Crip said.
They followed him to the safe, and he gave them the money. Peyton walked to the Jeep, and Tegan came and gave me a kiss.
“See you in a few,” she said.
I kissed her again. “Okay.”
“Well, aren’t you two just fucking cute?” Crip said, his voice thick with sarcasm.
Tegan stepped behind him and rolled her eyes.
Crip’s sixth sense kicked in. He didn’t even turn around. “Stop making fucking faces, and go get decorations, Crash.”
She wiped the silly look from her face and got in the Jeep.
“I have no idea why,” he said. “but I like that girl.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Hard to fucking hide it,” he said. “With you two always shoving your tongues down each other’s throats.”
I shrugged. “If it works, it works.”
“She’s not afraid to be herself, that’s for sure.”
“I know,” I said. “She’s got spunk.”
“I thought Peyton was an ornery little bitch, but Crash might have her beat.”
“Wanna hear a story?” I asked.
“Not particularly,” he said dryly. “But I’ve got a few spare minutes. What’s up?”
I considered telling him, hesitated, and thought of changing the story I was going to tell to a different story. After going back and forth for a minute, I decided to tell him what I intended to.
“On the first day? The day she showed up to watch pop? I about shit. She looked at me and her eyes went bug-eyed, and I looked at her and said where’s my fuckin’ money? She had no idea he was my pop, and I had no idea she was gonna be the nurse. So, anyway. She’s standing there tellin’ me how bad she needs the job, and I said get off my porch, bitch.”
“Good way to a girl’s heart, right there.” He chuckled. “Hell, Peeb, even I know not to do that.”
“Wait, it gets better.”
“I’m listening,” he said.
“So, the instant the word bitch comes out of my mouth, and I hear this screech. Sounds like an eagle’s coming in for a landing. I look up, thinking some wild animal is in the yard, and then it hits me. Like a fuckin’ lightning bolt.”
“What was it?”
“Her foot. Caught me in the shin. Doubled me over, but that ain’t all.”
His eyes went wide and he grinned. “She kicked you?”
I nodded. “And then, she squealed again, and kicked me in the knee. And then, another loud yelp, and, the other knee. And then--”
“You let that little shit kick you three times? Idda picked her up and tossed her in the yard.”
“Didn’t see even one of ‘em coming. That’s the funny part. She’s quick. Been practicing karate since she was six. She’s a tough little fucker. Anyway, there’s more. So, I’m all bent over and out of breath, and feel like I been in a car wreck--”
“She get your bad knee?”
“She sure did. Hard. But, anyway, I’m about to try and stand up straight, and she knees me in the nuts.”
He winced. “Oh god damn. Seriously?”
“Yep. And, that was it. I was done.”
“That little shit kicked your big ass?”
“She sure did.”
He let out a laugh. “That’s funnier than shit.”
“Wait. I ain’t done yet.”
“There’s more?”
“Just a little,” I said. “Anyway, I tell her she can have the job, ‘cause as far as I’m concerned, she’s earned my respect. At the time, I know I ain’t got to like her, but she’s earned my respect. So, I tell her there’s one condition. She can’t tell my pop.”
“Yeah, Bradley would have your ass if he knew that.”
“Well, we go in the house, and Pop says what the fuck did you do, hire Super Girl? And I said what? And he said I saw her kick your ass. And she turns to him, looks him in the eye, and says I ain’t got an idea of what you’re talking about.”
“I’ll be damned.” He gazed down at the floor. “She is a tight-lipped little fucker, isn’t she?”
It wasn’t much, but I knew he’d like that about her. It was the entire reason I wanted to tell him the story.
Proudly, I nodded. “Yep.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked her.” He looked up. “Now I know why.”
“’Cause you can trust her?”
“Nope. Because other than me, she’s the only one I know who can kick your ass, Peeb.” He slapped me on the shoulder. “And that makes her special in my eyes.”
Well, she’s special in mine, too.
&nbs
p; But for different reasons.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Tegan
If success was measured in smiles, the party was a huge success. Brad’s uncles, aunts, and cousins were in attendance, as were people from their church, the neighborhood, and a few of his and Deann’s classmates from school.
And, although it wasn’t an MC function, the men, throughout the course of the evening, all stopped in, one by one, and paid their respects.
My heart had never felt such warmth.
Everyone, at some point, was smiling.
Peyton and I had the place decorated with glittery gold from top to bottom. A huge “50” and “Happy Golden Anniversary” hung over the center of the shop.
The best part was that after winning a fifteen-minute-long argument with Crip, we used paint rollers to roll glue onto the south wall – in the shape of letters – and then tossed $100 worth of gold confetti against it. The five-foot tall hand-made letters glistened from the strobe lighting we’d placed on the floor below.
“Bradley and Deann 4-Ever”
After seeing it, Crip was disappointed he didn’t come up with the glue idea.
“This is something,” Brad said. “Seeing all of these people.”
Seeing him in a tuxedo was the highlight of the evening. I admired him for a moment, and then looked around the shop. “It sure is.”
“You two did one hell of a job,” he said. “And you look beautiful.”
Hearing him say it made me feel special. He could tell me a thousand times, and I’d never get sick of hearing it.
“Third time tonight you’ve told me that,” I said “Thank you.”
“I might tell you again. I love that little black dress. It does wonders for your already great ass.”
I blushed a little. “Thank you, again.”
“Look at this shit.” He motioned toward the center of the shop. “They’re dancing. Kind of.”
I looked toward the makeshift dance floor. As Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get it On played over the speakers of the sound system, Deann held onto the arms of Bradley’s wheelchair, and they danced.
She pushed him back and forth as he faced her, and then, she gripped one arm of the chair, and twisted it in a circle as she popped her hips to the beat of the music.
“You mother’s a good dancer.”
Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set Page 34