by Paige Weaver
I didn’t say anything. My lips thinned, keeping all the nasty things I wanted to say to him locked away.
Pam Man gave me a good shake. “I asked you a question, girl. Who were you with?”
“Nobody,” I spit out, shivering when he pulled me against his body.
Pam Man gritted his teeth, growing aggravated. “Listen, girl. We smelled the marijuana in that other room. We know someone has it on them. You tell me who it is and I’ll be nice.”
His breath reeked, smelling like stale coffee. Looking down at my chest, he grinned. I paled. Because of his grip, he could see right down the front of my shirt.
I started shaking, terrified. I was alone in a dark room with a creep who had already tried something with me once. It didn’t matter that other police officers were nearby; I didn’t trust this one.
“You got nothing to say? Well then how about this…” Pam Man said, running a finger down my neck, stopping at my collarbone. “You tell me who that kid was with you and if he has the drugs on him then I’ll let you go.” His hand ran back up my throat, caressing me with his fingertips. “I won’t tell your mama and I’ll let your brother go too.”
Bile rose in my throat, burning my esophagus and flooding my mouth. Give up Walker for Bentley and me? I felt sick even considering it.
Pam Man gave me a hard shake, making my teeth chatter. “You gonna talk or you gonna make this difficult?” he asked. He pulled his radio from his belt. “One call and your brother gets released. Or no call and I get to have some fun with you.”
The acid in my stomach rose. Could I do it? Could I turn in Walker for Bentley’s release and my own safety?
I glanced out the window, remembering how Walker had just left me behind. I would never forget his face as he turned away. Never.
He gave me up to save himself.
I was going to do the same.
Turning, I took a deep breath, letting the words out on a whoosh of air. “It was Cole Walker.”
Chapter Six
-Walker-
I downshifted and turned the corner, my motions automatic, my mind on the past. That night in the motel I had stood there and stared at the bag of pills Manny held, the only thing running through my mind that I could buy Sam and Bent food with the money I made selling those drugs. Sam’s stomach wouldn’t growl quite so much and I wouldn’t have to think about how hungry she went on a daily basis. I wanted to save her from the pain of knowing hunger – even if I had to commit a felony to do it.
But when the cops showed up, everything changed. I forgot about the drugs. My only concern was getting Bent and Sam out of the motel safely. Yeah, I left Sam behind. I had to. I thought the police would go easy on her if she was alone. She didn’t have a record like I did. If they found her with me – someone that had a rap sheet that read like a goddamn novel - the police would haul her to jail just for association. What I never expected was that she was going to turn me in to save her own ass.
The cops caught up to me not long after I hauled butt out of the motel. They found the evidence in my pocket. Drugs. I served half a year for possession. Longest sentence yet.
The day I got out of juvie was the day Sam started hating me. The day she couldn’t stand to look at me.
All because I was trying to save her.
“One day I’m leaving this piss-poor town and I’m taking Sam with me,” Bent said, slurring his words as we drove down the highway, leaving the illegal street race behind. “We’ll make a new life for ourselves and forget about this place. Until then, you touch her or even look at her, wrong, Walker, you’re dead even if you are my best friend.”
“Cool it, Bent. I’m not going to touch Sam. I don’t play with little girls,” I said, trying to forget the way she looked tonight, standing in front of me, telling her brother that I wanted her.
“Well, I know what kind of games you play, Walker. Don’t you dare play them with my sister.”
My hands tightened on the steering wheel, taking a corner too fast. “Sam couldn’t handle my games even if I was interested in her,” I muttered under my breath. “Which I’m not.”
“So she was lying? Nothing happened?” Bent asked. “There was no ‘last night’? You didn’t want your hands up her dress?”
“Hell, no!” I swore. It almost made me cringe to think that about Sam. Almost. Truth was it heated me up more than anything.
And I hated it.
The thought of my hands between her legs had me wishing I was a different person. Maybe one who had the right to Samantha Ross.
Bent chuckled, a sound I usually only heard when he was toasted. “Hell, Walker, I think my little sis just pulled a fast one on you. She does that a lot, buddy.”
I ground my teeth, remembering the smug smile on her face as she walked away.
Maybe it was time Ms. Smartass learned a lesson.
Chapter Seven
-Sam-
“Thanks, Tammy.”
“No problem, sugar. See you later.”
I watched as Tammy Jones backed out of my driveway, her old Ford Escort sounding like it was on its last leg. Tammy was a fellow waitress at Red’s Meet and Eat. She often gave me a ride when I didn’t have one. Tammy was as old as my mother but reliable. Something my mother never was.
She waved goodbye and pulled out onto the street. The first time she saw the decrepit trailer I lived in, I was embarrassed. I wanted to skulk down onto her car’s floorboard and disappear. Since that wasn’t an option, I had hugged my purse to my chest and stuck up my chin instead. Tammy never said anything about my living conditions. She never asked why my parents didn’t pick me up or why my brother was the only one I ever talked about. For that I was thankful. I didn’t want her pity. I just wanted her friendship.
As soon as she drove away, thunder rumbled across the sky. Off in the distance, lightning flashed. As if on cue, the streetlight near my trailer flickered and went out, leaving my yard and the little trailer I called home in pitch darkness.
I picked my way across the crumbling walkway, careful not to trip in any holes. Halfway to the trailer, I paused. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I looked around, feeling like I was being watched.
But there was no one. Maybe I was just tired and imagining things.
I yawned and continued walking. I had pulled another double shift today, second time in a row. I was exhausted. It didn’t help that I hadn’t slept much. It had been exactly one week since the run in with Bentley and Walker. I hadn’t seen Walker since and didn’t want to. I crossed the line, telling my brother that Walker wanted me, but Walker had it coming.
He always did.
A fat raindrop hit the top of my head. Another hit the bridge of my nose. I let out a heavy sigh and hurried toward my house. I tried to see it from Tammy’s point of view - a single-wide, dingy white trailer that sat on uneven cement blocks. One side of the roof was sagging precariously and many of the shingles were missing. The one-car garage that sat beside the trailer had collapsed, everything in it buried. The yard wasn’t much better. Grass gave way to dirt and weeds, leaving nothing but a sad pit of neglect and mud.
It was home sweet home. More sad than sweet. More shelter than a home.
I took heavy, slow steps toward the front door. The bass of someone’s car boomed through the night, grabbing my attention. I stopped and glanced around. A black car was pulling into a driveway a few houses down. Its headlights slashed through the night, highlighting the raindrops falling thicker from the sky.
I sucked in a breath. I knew that car better than I wanted to. It was Walker’s, one I had seen him drive for years. I had lost count of how many days he worked shirtless over the engine, exchanging old parts for new ones. I had sneaked peeks at him, hoping to catch a glimpse of his tanned abs. I wasn’t proud of it, but that black muscle car sent a thrill through me every time I saw it, even now. I might hate the driver but I wasn’t blind. The man was gorgeous.
And irritating.
I watched as W
alker parked the car in the driveway and hopped out. Long legs crossed in front of the car. From my vintage point I could see his dark jeans and an even darker shirt, his usual attire. I knew both would fit him perfectly, leaving no secret as to his lean build or the ripped muscles he hid so well. His black hair would look perfect and his face would be freshly shaven. The truth was I knew too damn much about him and it bothered me.
Walker bounded up the steps to the front door, taking the stairs two at a time. A second later, he threw open the screen door and rushed inside.
My gaze went back to the running car, the engine rumbling loudly in the night. Somewhere a dog barked. Someone yelled at it to be quiet. My eyes stayed on the car. I could see a woman’s outline in the passenger seat. She had the visor down and was checking her makeup. From this distance, I couldn’t tell if she was a brunette, a blonde, or a redhead, but it didn’t matter. Walker wasn’t picky. As long as they put out, he was happy. That much I knew about him.
A short time later, the front door of Walker’s trailer popped open again. He let the door slam behind him as he jogged down the porch steps toward his car. He was almost to the driver’s side when I saw him turn his head, his eyes finding mine. For what seemed like eternity, we stared at each other. Not with longing or interest. More with anger and animosity. I could feel it like it was a living thing, one that consumed both of us.
Breaking the hold he had on me, I turned away, reaching for the door handle of my trailer. The hinges squeaked as I unlocked and opened the door. Stale smoke from my mom’s cigarettes almost knocked me back a step as soon as I walked into the house.
I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder and see if Walker was still watching me. The shiver that ran up my spine told me he was.
I shut the door firmly behind me and turned the lock, keeping me in and thoughts of Walker out. Inside the dimly lit living room, I avoided looking at the dirty carpet or the sparse furnishings. I only saw my home, the only one that I had ever known.
“Mom!” I called out, tossing my purse on the broken-down couch as I walked by it. I knew my mother was home. Her car was in the driveway and I could hear music from somewhere in the house.
I started down the narrow hallway, calling my mom’s name again. In some homes, hallways held pictures of family. In mine, the walls were bare and the paint was peeling. There had never been family portraits of us on the walls or pretty landscaped paintings. I’m not sure we had ever had our pictures taken together anyway. We existed not as a family but as simply human beings, living together and sharing space, nothing more. I had accepted it long ago.
I peeked inside the only bathroom we had, looking for my mother. She wasn’t there. Only a smelly, mildewed bathtub stared back at me. But a second later I found her in her bedroom.
Her radio was playing loudly, some ‘80s song that I didn’t know. A half-empty bottle of vodka sat on her cluttered nightstand, sharing space with an old cordless phone. An ashtray overflowing with old cigarettes sat dangerously close to the edge, threatening to tip over any second. In the corner of the room was a large dresser. One of the drawers was missing and another was without its handles. Bras and underwear overflowed from each drawer, some of them spilling onto the floor. The paint on the walls was faded and peeling, covering the thin walls of the trailer.
It was my mother’s room and it fit her perfectly; she was faded and worn out. The alcohol and drugs she consumed on a daily basis covered what was beneath her exterior, hiding what used to be my mother.
I found her lying in the middle of the bed, fully dressed. Strands of her long blonde hair were sticking to her face in a sweaty mess, her natural curls matted and tangled.
I walked into the stifling hot room and turned down the radio. She didn’t move. I could hear her breathing heavily, the smell of alcohol almost overpowering me. I knelt beside the bed and pushed her washed-out blonde hair away from her face.
“Mama,” I whispered, studying her ashen skin. When she didn’t move, I whispered again, “Mama.”
She groaned and rubbed her nose with one hand.
“Mama, wake up,” I said. No matter how many times I found her like this – passed out and dead to the world – it always scared me. I worried one day she wouldn’t wake up. She would just fall into a drug-induced dream and never return.
I shook her until her heavily mascaraed eyes finally opened, leaving black smudges under them. It took time for her to focus on my face. Her blue eyes were hazy and red-rimmed, nothing like the eyes of the mother I once knew.
“Hey, baby girl,” she said in a raspy voice, her throat raw from drinking.
I forced a smile, wanting to scoff. She always called me baby girl. It was both aggravating and bittersweet at the same time. When she was drunk or high, she barely knew me. Other times her words would be sharp and ugly, tinged with the side effects of her addiction. No, the endearment meant nothing. Nothing at all.
I watched as she attempted to push herself into a sitting position. Her low-cut red blouse was torn, hanging off one shoulder and showing the strap of her yellowed bra. With a weak hand, she pushed her hair away from her face then tugged down her short skirt.
“What time is it?” she asked around a yawn.
“Nine o’clock.”
Her eyes grew large, the wrinkles around the corners of her mouth deepening. “Oh, hell!” she exclaimed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
The sudden movement was too much. She grew still and let out a groan, covering her face with both hands.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Just give me a minute.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and waited, growing impatient for her to recover. “Is Bentley working late again?” I asked.
“Dunno. I haven’t seen him for days,” my mom answered, dropping her hands into her lap.
I sighed. Of course, she hadn’t seen him; she was too busy shooting up or giving blowjobs to notice if her son or daughter was even alive.
I held back a retort as she climbed to her feet, wavering unsteadily. “I gotta get to work,” she said, pushing past me.
“You sure you can work tonight?” I asked, watching as she held onto the wall for support. My mom was a waitress at an all-night diner. Sometimes she worked days and sometimes nights. But when she wasn’t working, she was either drunk, doped up, or with a man.
“I’m fine, baby girl,” she said, her voice weak as she held onto the wall and made her way out of the bedroom.
I watched her go. Her hair lay limply down the middle of her back, in desperate need of a comb. Her feet shuffled along the dirty carpet, making very little noise in the trailer. I waited until I heard the closing of the bathroom door before I headed to my own bedroom.
As soon as I was inside, I shut the door and turned on my radio. Alternative music played softly from the tiny speakers, drowning out the sound of the shower running.
I dug in my dresser drawer for a clean t-shirt. Pulling the Red’s Meet and Eat shirt over my head, I tossed it in the corner. Standing in my bra and panties, I combed my hair with my fingers. Without warning, my mind drifted back to Walker. I wondered who the girl was in his passenger seat. If she knew what kind of jackass he was.
Or how capable he was of violence and destruction.
I let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh and tugged the new t-shirt over my head. I refused to think about Walker anymore. The man only made me mad.
I turned the radio up and lay back on my bed, letting the lyrics flow over me. In minutes I was asleep but I didn’t dream of unicorns and rainbows. I dreamt of the moment Walker said he couldn’t stand me anymore.
~~~~
After giving up Walker’s name to Pam Man that day in the motel, Pam Man had released me. I ran home, my feet flying across the hot pavement. By the time I got to our trailer, Bentley was right behind me, catching up to me quickly. And Walker? Walker was sitting in a jail cell, courtesy of me ratting him out. He spent time in a juvenile detention center,
a prison for criminals under the age of eighteen. The day he walked into jail was the day he changed. He went in as a boy that broke the law to survive; he came out a man hell bent on destroying himself and everyone around him.
Including me.
I was sitting on the front porch the day Walker returned home. It was stifling hot, one of the hottest months on record according to the bowtie-wearing weatherman on TV. The sun beat down on my blonde head, making my hair hot to the touch and giving me more freckles across my nose. Since our A/C had gone out and Mama didn’t have the money to have it fixed, I spent most of my summer outside, trying to catch a stray breeze.
That’s where I found myself early one morning. Sitting on the broken-down wooden porch leading to our front door. My mom had a man over and Bentley wasn’t home so I was entertaining myself with a stray cat that had found its way to our house.
“Here, kitty kitty,” I said in a singsong voice, wiggling my fingers for it to come to me.
The small cat meowed, flicking its tail in the air. It started walking toward me when loud shouts came from down the street, startling it.
“I’m not bailing your ass out of jail again, you hear? I’m sick and tired of you! You’re a sorry excuse for a human and a terrible excuse for a son!” someone bellowed.
I jerked my head up. The glare of the sun blinded me for a minute. Heat waves glimmered along the asphalt, making everything look burnt and miserable.
I shielded my eyes, blocking the harsh sunlight. The cat rubbed against my leg and meowed again but I ignored it. Only one thing had my undivided attention.
Halfway down the street, Old Man Walker was slamming the door of his truck, his motions angry. At the same time a man was climbing out of the passenger side, a small duffle bag slung over his shoulder. I could see his lean body. The wide shoulders. His tall frame.
It wasn’t a man. It was Cole Walker. He was home.
“You give me any more problems, I’m tossing you out on your ass, Cole. I don’t need your crap and I can’t afford to bail you out every damn time you do something stupid!” Walker’s father yelled, pointing at Walker threateningly as he stalked across the yard.