DECEIT (B723)

by Hazel Grace

  Despite everything, I’m happy he still wants me around. And thankfully, so does Stormi. I mean, who could blame her?

  EMMY: Order us a pizza. I’ll be over soon.

  Which will have to be me leaving pronto because I still have an hour trip. I wish he’d call Mills to have a “boy’s night,” but technically, I’m considered one, and be as it may, Mills drives Marty crazy.

  MARTY: Be here in an hour?

  EMMY: Shopping, remember?

  MARTY: You’re shopping, my ass.

  MARTY: You’re lying.

  EMMY: Prove it.

  MARTY: I did.

  EMMY: How?

  MARTY: Mills taught me how to GPS a phone, and you’re about an hour out.

  MARTY: Funny, the rental that Bishop and I rented out is a good sixty minutes from here. Fancy that.

  Damn it.

  How dare these assholes use the skills that I taught them against me.

  MARTY: Get your ass here when you’re done doing whatever it is you’re not doing.

  The slamming of a car door yanks me from my screen just to find a woman and child walking from a red van.

  He’s not here.

  I thought maybe I could “run into him” after the dozens upon dozens of text messages I’ve sent with no response. I’ve aspired to give him space, to plainly chill out, except it’s been more challenging than I thought.

  My heart drops a little as the truth slaps me in the face like it always does, never missing the opportunity to.

  Bishop doesn’t want to be found or talked to.

  We’re over.

  We’ve been over for years.

  “Where are your bags?” Marty interrogates me as soon as I walk through the front door of his cabin. He eyes me suspiciously, fully aware of my lie, but it’d only be valid if I confirm it.

  Which I’m not.

  “In the car,” I reply slowly, sending him a glare before making myself at home by going to the kitchen to grab a beer.

  Marty suddenly rises from the couch, beer in hand, when he beelines for the door I just entered.

  My heartbeat skids and slams into my chest because I know where the fuck he’s going.

  He’s about to call out my bullshit.

  “Where are you going?”

  He doesn’t answer, determined to prove me wrong in any way he can. He only halts his palm touching the doorknob when I pull back on the hammer of my 9mm. The loud sound piercing through his muffled sounding TV and aimed right at his head.

  “Don’t trust me, Marty?” I purr, my tone anything but delighted.

  I’m pissed.

  First, because of the obvious, trust.

  Second, I don’t need to tell him everything even though I make him spill all his crap.

  Third, because I’m not having the Bishop conversation.

  “You can bet your ass, Emmy Lou,” he assures me, still staring at the door. “You’re hiding something from me.”

  I literally loathe how he can feel me too.

  It’s like we’re separated twins, except we look nothing alike. Marty with dark hair and piercing green eyes and me with my pale blonde hair that almost looks white with light brown eyes.

  We might be able to pass as second cousins, but nothing more.

  It’s as though we were linked somehow in a past life, and I don’t like how it is used against my favor.

  “Did you adopt me and become my new daddy?” I seethe, watching Marty slowly peer over his broad shoulder at me, eyes drilling into my face.

  “You need a daddy...but he doesn’t look like me.”

  My nostrils flare. We’re both in a shit mood, both hard-headed, petty as fuck, and can make a war out of nothing.

  But we’re close friends.

  He’s had my back, I always have his, and it still does nothing when we’re like this. We’re downright assholes.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” I snap, gesturing with my weapon for him to go sit back down. “Go enjoy your beer, best friend.”

  “Tell me where you were,” he retorts sternly. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

  “Out shopping,” I lie through a whisper.

  Marty’s brows furrow. “What?”

  “Shopping,” I repeat louder. “I was shopping for dildos, Marty.”

  “You’re an idiot, Emmy.” He steps away from the door, hurls it open, and whistles loudly. A faint sound of jingling comes from the other side, Armageddon’s collar.

  The dog barrels through the door frame, tongue hanging from his mouth as he searches for me. And when he does, he obediently sits without being asked.

  My God, Bishop even trained him to be a bore.

  Marty slams the door, not bothering to tell me to put my gun down, and plops back onto the couch, pretending to get into his show again. I end up grabbing my cold beverage and sitting next to him—we’re both the picture-perfect definition of miserable.

  Him because he’s terrified.

  Me because of him and my own tug ‘o war with Bishop.

  Bish can’t stand me as it is, so going through his privacy would cause him to plan for me to have an “accident”.

  However, he did this to me.

  “Pizza should be here soon,” Marty mutters a few minutes later, finishing off his beer. I don’t reply, already done talking for the day. “Ems.” I feel Marty’s green eyes on me, and I purposely ignore them.

  I’m not doing this.

  I’m not going there.

  Bishop fucking killed me the last time I believed he cared. I’m not going to be stupid again. I can’t be.

  “Did you track him down yet?”

  I shake my head, not surprised that he read my mind. I’m trying to be respectful of Bishop’s solitude, but—not going to lie—I almost have. I had the laptop in the car earlier and everything.

  “Why not?”

  “Marty…” I warn, mainly because I don’t want to talk about him. Not when things between Bishop and I have always been rocky.

  “Just surprised is all,” he replies next to me. “I know you wouldn’t last this long with anyone else.”

  Anyone else being him, Mills, and Kyson.

  Blue can go fuck herself for all I care.

  “It’s because I like you,” I quip. “If he wants to keep his crap to himself, then let him. I’m not going to waste my time and hunt him down.”

  My words sound fraudulent even to my own ears. Once upon a time, I would’ve burnt the world down looking for Bishop. I’d be just how Marty is acting now.

  A lunatic.

  A love-crazed, besotted ball of hysteria.

  But he fucked that up.

  I fucked it up.

  Our time came and went, he gave up, and I’ve been trying to get my life in order ever since.

  Marty’s gaze weighs heavily on my body, and the need to squirm underneath it starts to prick at my body. He wants me to look up Bishop. Needs to know that he’s alright but wants me to be the crazy one to do it.

  “He’s a big boy,” I continue, my mouth suddenly going dry. “With a bigger temper, he’ll be fine.”

  “If you say so.” He returns his attention back to the screen of the TV.

  Yeah, I say so.

  Because if he’s not, I’ll never forgive myself.

  “Yo, seriously?” I watch my brother stride purposely in my direction, a smile as big as the moon, just like he always had when we were kids. His unclouded blue eyes briskly scan the bedroom that Scarlett and I did up for Madelyn.

  Light pink walls with dangly star lights hang above the windows. A full-sized bed with some Disney princesses that I don’t know the names of covers the pillowcases, and comforter. A bunch of dolls, Barbies, a small desk for coloring, a purple castle tent, and this little girl is officially hooked up.

  Scarlett took care of picking it all out. I just bought and put it all together. It’s about time this house is utilized for something other than me brooding aimlessly around with a cold beer and warm blunt in m
y hands. Having my family reside here gives it a welcoming and fuzzy feeling while actually being used for something good.

  I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop out of habit.

  But it’s been nice learning about my sister during the week and what things she likes to do. She still lives in Chicago and works at a blog that covers numerous things ranging from how to give your life balance to quick recipes for dinner, money-saving tips, and spreading your time while doing the things you like to do. She was actually visiting when Madelyn and her mother had the accident.

  “Kace, this is fucking amazing.” Hardy stands next to me, still gawking inside the room. “She’s going to love this.”

  “Scarlett picked out—“ My brother quickly turns and hugs me, catching me completely off guard again. I’m gonna have to watch him a little more closely or get used to this whole hugging thing because I stiffen as my brain computes that he’s not a threat.

  “Sorry—” Hardy breaks from me, immediately allowing me back my personal space. “—this is just…Maddy is going to be in heaven over this.”

  I nod. “Good, she’s still scheduled to come home tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Her grandparents have all her things packed up, and…with Abigail’s funeral, I wanted to give her some time to spend with them. I didn’t want her whole world to be flipped upside down even though it will be anyway.”

  “How about you sell your place or break the lease and come live with me,” I transmit, trying to alleviate some of his burdens. Hardy has been all over the place for the last three weeks. He’s been running around with Madelyn so much and letting her spend time with his ex-girlfriend’s family that I barely see him.

  Now that he’s going to be a single parent full-time, he’s gonna need every break and piece of help he can get his hands on.

  And I can be those extra set of hands.

  I think.

  Hardy gapes at me with furrowed everything. “Huh?”

  I motion for him to step out of his daughter’s newly decorated room and pat myself down in a quest for my cigarettes. Hardy needs to have a nice place to raise Madelyn, and I’m not here much like I said. It’ll also give me some time to get to know them. Living in an actual house with four walls and not having to worry about what your neighbors are doing sounds like a nice way to go to me.

  We walk outside, filling the unfinished conversation with a simpler one. Apparently, Hardy has my pride. “What does she like to eat? I gotta go into town.”

  “Macaroni and cheese, grilled cheese, peanut butter and jelly. Normal kid shit. Not the radiation-filled shit they fed you in the military.” I cut a glance over my shoulder at him, and he shrugs. “You’re fucking huge, man.”

  “Mhm.” Finding my box, I pull out a fag and tip the book to offer him one. My brother holds up his hand.

  “Nah, I’m good. I like to go more green.”

  “Weed?” He bobs his head, to which I pull a rolled blunt out of my leather jacket that I just finished before he got here.

  Hardy’s lips curl like I offered him an unlimited AMEX card, plucking it from between my fingers, and draws his own lighter out of his sweats.

  Talk about looking at a version of myself. Fucker came prepared and everything.

  “I’m sure Mom would love seeing us do this—“ He lights the end and inhales to get it to stay lit. “—her two sons doing drugs.”

  I lose my cigarettes, dropping them back into my jacket as my brother offers me the blunt. “I’m sure she’d be high-fiving as she snorted up snow.”

  Hardy shrugs as I take a long hit. “Eh, you took care of us. I wanted for nothing.”

  “Because I stole everything.” I hand back the weed, blowing out smoke and watching his face fall from memories, I’m sure.

  There were nights that we fled Mom’s double-wide trailer because Bubba or one of his cronies would try to sneak up on us when we were sleeping. We spent many cold nights in the woods, hunkered down with blankets and pressed up against each other for warmth.

  There was no peace.

  Not when the fight was what they wanted. It is a game of predator versus prey, chasing the weak and young that couldn’t protect themselves, so they feel more inferior and powerful.

  Chasing children.

  When Hardy and Scarlett would fall asleep, I’d turn off the small fan in the room just so I could be the lookout and listen for anyone that wasn’t supposed to be inside. Mom was always out at all hours of the night fucking around and getting high. I knew she lost her job shortly after Dad died, and we didn’t keep the light bill on because she found money that grew on trees.

  I actually remember asking Kyson what a whore was. The word was thrown around so much by Bubba’s sidekicks that I put two and two together, finding out Mom’s new job occupation.

  I grew into a parent because of her new job at ten for a five and four-year-old.

  Fucking shit was hard, but I got the hang of it.

  “And we’re grateful for it,” Hardy quips off an exhale. “Scarlett and I…we never forgot.” I bob my head, glad that social media became a thing because I got to check in on them over the years. Even though I don’t know them like the back of my hand, I got to somewhat look after them.

  “You’re family.”

  “Yeah…the circumstances are fucked, but I’m glad to have you around, man.” He passes back the blunt.

  “Same.” Plucking it from his fingers, I take a steady hit then roll the paper between mine. “I own this house free and clear, paid it off a long time ago. I travel a lot for my job, so the house sits, and I have to pay someone to keep up with the maintenance. You pay for the groceries and my beer, and you got a place to raise your little girl that isn’t a rusty trailer.”

  “I can’t accept that,” my brother counters. “Maddy has a lot of shit and leaves toys out. She’s…she’s five man, she’s a handful. You’ll be pulling out your pretty dark locks within a week of her being here.”

  Can’t be any worse than Emmy.

  “I’ll manage.” I hand him back my weed so that I can smoke a cigarette.

  “I need to buy more than the groceries,” Hardy surmises.

  “And my beer.”

  “Right.” He looks over at the woods in the far distance and the large yard that we’re currently standing in. “You’ve taken care of me enough. I—“

  “Madelyn is my niece. You’re my brother. There’s a small town about five minutes from here with an ice cream shop you can take her to. The schools are good, her room is already done, thanks to Scarlett. It’s all set up. The house is big enough.”

  “But—“

  “Hey, guys!” We both glance behind us to see Scarlett’s cheery face from the front door. “I made lunch.”

  “Be there in a min—“

  “Are y’all really smoking?” She pushes through the screen door and props her hands on her hips.

  Shit.

  A house with a kid means that I’m going to have to smoke out of sight.

  I point at Hardy. “It’s his.”

  Scarlett’s eyes reduce on our brother, and I feel his focus burn into me. “Really?”

  “Last person holding it is the one who reaps the wrath, brother.” I hit him in the back of the shoulder and walk inside to help Scarlett with setting the table. “Should’ve tossed it.”

  I hear him chuckle behind me as we both get back inside. Scarlett has sandwiches and chips all set up on the small dining room table that sits four. My outdated kitchen is something I can tell she wants to get her hands, especially with the apple pie Yankee candles and floral hand towels that hang over the oven’s handle and the edge of the sink.

  The cabinets are still a chipped baby blue that doesn’t match the tan countertops. The stove was bought in the ’60s, and the floors are the ugliest and cheapest-looking pattern ever made. More than likely purchased before Home Depot was even a thing.

  “You want some tea?” Scarlett asks me, her face still a dazzling, happy expressi
on on how she sees life. It’s then that I realize I really don’t exercise those muscles very often.

  “I—“

  “He has to hate that shit as much as I do,” Hardy confidently pipes in. “And if he doesn't…” He stops speaking, which gets me to look over at him, giving me a hard and penetrating stare. “You just stopped being my hero.”

  “Loathe it, actually,” I mutter, which doesn’t wipe the beam off of my sister’s face.

  “Coke then?” she inquires. Hardy chuckles, probably because of the comment I made about Mom earlier and her snorting.

  “Sure, yeah.”

  Hardy pulls out two red cans from the fridge, opening mine before handing it over and sitting across from me at the small dining room table. My cell buzzes in my pocket and, to take away some of the awkwardness nestled in the middle of the table, I yank it out.

  EMMY: Are you still coming with me to the charity gala? You said you’d let me know.

  Nope.

  Being around suits and men with money that they wipe their asses with isn’t my idea of blowing a night.

  Seeing Emmy in a tight dress that outlines her perfect ass and heels might make up for it.

  But nah. Still a no.

  More of a hell no. I honestly can’t believe she thought I was serious when I told her to let me have some time to think about it. She knows I hate that shit. I only avoid her like an unpopular opinion. I’m surprised I even responded back to the dumbass question to begin with.

  Because you’d break her in half while she screams your name.

  Scarlett joins my brother, comfortable together as I feel out of place in my own damn crib as they both stare at me.

  I take a long swig of my Coke, buying some time for whatever it is they are going to say, and deflect from Emmy’s question. I can feel several more of them being directed my way along with shit I don’t want to talk about in my near future.