by Sara Cate
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“I don’t need an invitation,” he answers coolly.
“Are you still so hung up on ‘figuring me out?’” I ask, gesturing with my hands and mocking him a little. “Is it so hard to believe that I’m just a regular girl who came from a shitty background and wants a fresh start?”
“No. That’s not hard to believe at all.” He glances down at me. “But that’s not your story.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I spent my entire life running, living an unsettled life and desperate for the next thing to keep me safe—and I see that in you.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. Whenever Murph talks, I feel like he’s just on the verge of being real, being open, but this wall he’s put up between us is really a thick piece of glass that allows him to see out without anyone seeing in.
“Is that so?” The light behind him is blinding, but it brings out the flecks of gray in his beard and in the spots above his ears. He’s really the last person you’d expect to see going for a stroll down this quiet suburban neighborhood.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
A few moments pass without discussion until I finally volley his suspicion back to him. “Well, what about you? How do I know you’re not out to take Hazel for all she’s worth? I’ve been with her for a year; she’s very important to me. And I’ve never heard her even talk about you.” Which is a lie, but I like torturing him with it. She does have pictures of two young men around her house, and she does share stories of them, but I never pictured them to be like Murph.
He glares down at me, one eyebrow cocked with attitude. “I’ve known Hazel for fifteen years. She doesn’t talk about me because she’s got more important things to talk about.”
“How many were there?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
“Just me and Ryder.”
“And where is he now?”
“Ryder got his share of the fortune and took off to spend it. Last I heard he was broke in Vegas trying to win it all back.”
I nod along.
“You’re her favorite though, aren’t you?” I say with a wink.
“Naturally.” I spot a hint of a smirk hidden under that thick beard, and it gives me confidence as we finish our walk in silence.
When we get back, the house is still quiet. It’s almost dinnertime, but Ruby is standing in the kitchen putting away dishes.
“She ate already and the food is staying warm in the oven if you’re hungry.”
Something about Ruby’s expression seems off. She’s hiding her face while she talks.
“Is she sleeping?” Murph asks.
“Yes.” Ruby walks out of the kitchen in a rush and heads toward the laundry room like the clothes are a sudden emergency. Murph and I stare at each other with skepticism.
“You hungry?” I ask as I pull the lasagna out of the oven. There are two clear empty spots where Ruby and Hazel must have removed their portions.
“Not really,” he answers.
“Me neither.”
He’s standing in the doorway, watching the hallway toward Hazel’s room as if he’s waiting for her to emerge. Hazel hasn’t been walking much lately, and when she does, it’s with Ruby or Murph’s help.
Not having her around to talk to makes me feel restless and frankly, quite useless. There’s a buzzing under my skin like I want to itch something or scream or just do anything really. I watch Murph, and for a moment I feel bad. He’s so clearly hurting over this, and even though I should despise him for threatening to ruin everything for me, I can’t seem to find the energy to hate him.
Or maybe it is hatred, and I’d rather do other things than argue with him and spend this passion differently.
His eyes stare ahead without focusing. I should ask if he’s okay or if he wants to go see her, but he looks as if he might shatter if I bring it up.
Instead I start to head out of the kitchen, but his large frame takes up most of the entrance so when I move to pass him, our bodies brush up against each other. He almost lets me pass, but on second thought, he juts out his knee and stops me, pinning my body to the door frame.
“Where are you going?” he asks in a low tone without meeting my gaze.
“My room,” I answer quickly. He has me unwound and just not myself. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“What have I told you? Your business is my business now. As long as you're in this house and a part of her life, you’re a part of mine.” He’s less playful now, and almost...miserable.
I gulp, feeling like my body is on fire with the way he’s staring at my neck. I push his chest away, trying to squeeze past, but the more I push him, the harder he pushes back until his hips have mine pinned and his warm breath is on my face, and I’m breathing him in.
Rolling my body toward him, I send him a glare that is quite clearly a dare. He won’t do anything about it, my eyes say. He won’t carry me to his bedroom and do what I know he wants to do so badly.
He answers my dare with a growl and his hands are on my hips. “You’re too feisty for your own good,” he says, his words clipped and breathless.
“Admit it, I scare you,” I answer, pushing myself against the now rigid form against my belly.
“I’m fucking terrified.” His lips are just inches from mine, and I’m waiting for him to kiss me when the footsteps coming down the stairs pull us apart. Without even looking back, I pass through the kitchen doorway into the hallway and toward my room. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk away.
My body is still buzzing from the contact, the nearness. As I get ready for bed, I can’t get his face out of my mind. Coming home to realize Hazel wasn’t any better knocked the wind out of him, and the pain was evident. He was trying to avoid reality, desperate for a distraction—me.
I want to follow her to her room. I want to just fuck out the tension between us. If I let it go and scratch this torturous itch, then I will be able to focus on Hazel, the shop, the initiative—or at least that’s what I’ve convinced myself.
But there’s something about this girl that tells me once won't be enough. It’s her playful smile, the fierceness in her eyes, the way her personality is not contained in her small frame. I want to break her, have her lying beneath me, succumb to my will, breathless and addicted to only me.
Sex wouldn’t change anything between us, not really. Savannah and I are fire and kerosene. We would still be ruthless competitors, and I wouldn’t hesitate to strip everything from her if I caught her trying to hurt Hazel. These things would only make us more dynamic physically, knowing full well that sex is all that it is. Insatiable, no-strings-attached sex.
But I won’t. It’s not the distraction I need. Staying focused on the shop and Hazel is far more important. And if I let this girl in, even just physically, there’s no telling how far we would go and how fucked up in the head I would get.
Instead, I go to the office and sit at the small desk, pulling out the letters sent to Hazel from the city. This initiative was launched after Spring Break, and it was in response to another teen death from a drug overdose. The rich part of Wicked, the ones who come to the beach seasonally with their investments and their summer homes want a city that matches their vision, nothing too real or dingy. They want perfection, and instead of finding the dirtbags who traffic drugs into town, they think they can solve the problem by taking down real, hardworking establishments like my shop.
They also know that Logan works there, and Logan was one of their main targets when all of this came out. But this is a brotherhood, and I don’t let my brothers go down without a fight.
Thinking about the guys, makes me realize I haven’t spoken to Rafe all week.
I take out my phone and pull up our most recent group text, typing a quick message.
Murph: Meeting tonight?
Logan is the first to respond.
Logan: Have appointments all night. After 2?
Then, Rafe chimes in after
a few moments.
Rafe: On duty all night. I can meet. What’s up?
I let out a frustrated sigh.
Murph: Fuck it. Nevermind.
Rafe: Everything alright?
Logan: I can cancel my appointment.
Murph: No cancelling. We need the business. I just need to get drunk.
Logan: You can ride bitch on the back of my bike if you need a ride.
Murph: Fuck you, Logan.
Logan: You wish, brother. If you need to come over, Savannah’s home.
Murph: thx
Talking to the guys settles my worries a little. It’s only the three of us right now, but it’s always been the three of us. Before it was Logan, it was his brother, Theo—one of my oldest, closest friends. Theo and I were in the same foster house when we were little, not even ten. They separated him and Logan, and he was pretty fucked up over it, always throwing fits, getting into trouble. Once he and I bonded over sneaking out to cross the busy street to the gas station where we would lift junk food and soda, he mellowed out a lot. Only a few months later, he was relocated to be with his brother, but the bond between us never faded.
Once we aged out, we stuck together. Formed our own little motorcycle club, which was a fucking joke at first. We were just kids, but then when shit got heavy, the club was the only thing to keep us going.
Then, out of nowhere, Theo was dead. Just like that. Rafe found him in the bedroom of the house we shared, overdosed.
The club died with him.
Until this spring when Logan revived it, pushing us to bring the brotherhood back, knowing full well that we all needed it, this family, more than we were willing to admit.
Now I’m glad we did. Because the fact that I have them, in some sappy fucking way, it settles me. It reminds me that someone has my back. No matter what.
I look back down at the letters and the name signed under the ordinance makes me want to rip the paper to shreds.
Colin McAffery.
Fucking Colin McAffery.
His piece-of-shit mom was one of my foster parents for a short stint in my teen years, and Colin was a real fucking tool then just as he is now. I was fully convinced that taking foster kids was just a way for that family to assert their dominance over something more pathetic than them. They didn’t hesitate to remind me what a piece of shit I was, and never made me feel at home.
Now I only run into Colin when the rich kids come out to play during the touristy season. Because here on Wicked, when the rich kids come out to play, they play dirty. There are no consequences for their actions, and they can behave with abandon, no matter what it costs. When one of my foster sisters accused Colin of being too rough with her at a party after high school, he denied it.
The cops wouldn’t do anything about it, so I did.
It landed me six months. Still totally worth it.
Now Colin is on the city council and in a position to be a pain in my ass. Still.
Giving into the temptation, I crumple the letter, and it feels as good as I thought it would. I squeeze it as hard as I can between the fingers of my fist, the paper tearing and digging into my palm. They won’t take my shop. They will not fucking take my shop.
My phone buzzes on the table. Figuring it’s just Rafe or Logan, I’m surprised to see a number I don’t know pop up.
The message catches my attention though.
She’s awake and very lucid. We’re in her room. You don’t want to miss this.
It takes me a few minutes to realize this must be Savannah. I definitely didn’t get her number, so I have no idea how she has mine.
But that’s the last thing on my mind. She’s with Hazel and she’s awake. It’s enough for me, so I jump up and head down the hall, trying not to rush or look too excited as I step into the master bedroom. There on the bed, Savannah is lying next to Hazel, her arm propped under her, turned toward the old woman with a wide smile on her face. They’re laughing, and she’s right. Hazel is incredibly lucid. Probably the first time I’ve seen her this awake and aware since I got here.
“What’s going on in here?” I ask, stealing their attention.
“Oh, Murphy baby, come here,” Hazel says with a smile. “Be a dear and grab me my smokes! I keep a spare pack in that top drawer.”
I don’t even bother scolding her. The woman could smoke two packs a day at this point if she wants to. I’ll be damned if anyone is going to stop her. I light one for her and pass it over as I peel off my boots and climb on the bed, on the opposite side so she’s sitting with her back to the headboard between Savannah and me.
Savannah’s smile is warm as she watches Hazel. The old woman passes the cigarette to Savannah as if this is something they do regularly. It almost feels like we’re teenagers stealing smokes without our parents knowing. Her room has always smelled like tobacco, and the smell is almost nurturing to me at this point.
I steal a glance at Savannah, but her attention is on Hazel. “We were just talking about when you moved in,” she says, biting her lip.
“Everyone thought I was fucking a seventeen year old,” Hazel says in her usual gruff, raspy voice. She doesn’t pull punches that’s for sure.
“Oh god,” I groan, leaning back. This topic is one of Hazel’s favorites. She seems to find it hilarious that everyone suspected she was a cradle-robbing cougar, but it is very disturbing to me.
Savannah lets out a giggle that makes my skin pucker in goosebumps.
“I was eighteen,” I corrected her.
“Who the fuck cares? Those nosy assholes just loved to put their noses in everyone else’s business. I loved getting them all riled up.”
“You really did.”
Savannah laughs again. The goosebumps get worse.
Hazel looks at me with a warm smile. “You always were my favorite, Murphy baby.” Her hand reaches up and cups my cheek with motherly affection. It fucking unravels me.
“Naturally.”
“You should have seen him back then, Savannah. What a fucking mess he was. He drank too much. Loved to get into fights. If he hadn’t gone into the service, he would have been destined for prison, this one.”
“Ha ha,” I stutter flatly.
“But I could see the light inside. Murph was better than that, but life had been a real bitch to him.”
Savannah’s eyes are on me now, but I can’t look at her. There is too much emotion hiding beneath the surface, and I’m afraid if I look at Savannah, she’ll see it.
“Oh and the girls,” Hazel laughed. “I knew teenage boys were bad, but this kid would nail anything that walked by.”
“Jesus, Hazel,” I groan, hiding my face again. She’s not wrong, but her candid manner when discussing my teenage sex life is still alarming. Savannah laughs again, but this time it’s tense and forced. Her eyes are still on me.
“If you had known him then, Savannah, you two certainly wouldn’t be wasting as much time as you are now, that’s for sure.”
“Okay, change of subject,” I call out, noticing Savannah’s cheeks burning pink.
“I’m being serious,” Hazel continues. “I’ve lived long enough to know when two people need to get over their shit and do it already.”
“Who says we haven’t?” Savannah answers her with a sly smile.
Hazel’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.
“She’s kidding, Hazel.” I shoot Savannah a warning glance, but she only laughs at me in response.
“Well, if you haven’t, you should.” Hazel puts her hand on Savannah’s leg and passes her the nearly burnt out cigarette. Savannah turns and puts it out in the ashtray. She doesn’t seem to expect the next words that come out of Hazel’s mouth because I watch her tense and freeze. “Savannah just got out of a bad relationship, and she needs someone like you, Murph. Someone to help her move on.”
I watch Savannah as she gulps down whatever sentiment that’s running through her.
And when her eyes meet mine, she squirms under my stare. A bad relationsh
ip. I’m desperate to know more. A bad relationship like abusive? Or someone cheated? Was she hurt or did she hurt him?
“I’m fine,” Savannah murmurs but it’s not convincing.
“She puts on a brave face,” Hazel says, then yawns. Her focus fades on a spot across the room, and the space grows quiet as we wait for her to say something. I notice a slight shake to her arms as she relaxes against the headboard, looking suddenly very quiet.
After a few long moments when I mentally beg her to come back and laugh with me again so I don’t feel so all alone, her gaze turns toward my face. I smile at her, thinking for a moment that maybe Hazel could overcome this. She’s the strongest person I know. She could kick cancer’s ass without even trying.
Then, she touches my face. “Ryder, baby.”
It’s like someone let the air out of the room. Savannah’s jaw drops just an inch, and I can see the pity in her stare. I can’t move for a long moment as I look into Hazel’s eyes.
“Get some sleep, Hazel,” I say as I pat her arm. She relaxes easily against the pillows, and Savannah covers her with care. She’s gentle with Hazel, and when she turns toward me in the doorway, the moisture against her lashes glints in the light of the room just before I cut them off.
“Goodnight,” she whispers toward the woman. Before she can even shut the door, I’m already down the hallway and shutting the door to my room.
Murph disappears so quickly into his room that I don’t get one second to talk to him about what just happened with Hazel. It must have been a knife to the heart for him. His love for that woman is so obvious, and he looks like the kind of guy who doesn’t express love well or often.
I’m standing outside his door, my flannel pjs too long and covering my toes on the worn wood floor as I hover my fist over the wood of the door, contemplating whether or not I should knock.