“Taz?” Her voice finds a softer pitch. Her eyes check out my hand. My fingers are digging into the thighs of my jeans so hard there’s bloodstains. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
I almost laugh. Instead, I get up and walk out.
CHAPTER 34
Tia:
I’m rushing across the high school parking lot when Brandon falls into step with me. I scowl at him. He grins back and bumps his hip into mine. I trip. He thinks it’s cute. My stubbed toe doesn’t agree. I pretend he doesn’t exist, and he follows me all the way to the driver’s side door of the Ark, where he leans against it, getting in my way.
Giving my pony tail a tug, he asks, “Will you go to homecoming with me?”
I plant my hands on my hips. “You’re asking me this after what you guys did to Taz? I’d rather eat my own hair.”
He tips his head to stare at the sky and groans. “I can’t believe you’re buying into his bullshit.”
I yank on the handle, check to make sure the doors aren’t locked and realize the latch is stuck AGAIN. I’m running late because Mr. Forrester held me after class to question the authenticity of my calculus homework. Can you believe it? He compared handwriting samples as if he’d just snagged Frank Abagnale Junior. You’ve seen Catch Me If You Can, right? Leonardo DiCaprio? Anyhoo, I was insulted and let him know it.
Brandon rests a hand over mine. “I don’t know what story that dirtbag fed you, but I guarantee it’s not how it went down.”
“Look Brandon, I don’t have time for whatever this is.”
“Tia, will you please at least listen to me? We’ve known each other our whole lives and he’s been here, what? A week?”
I sag under the weight of my backpack. “Fine. Say what you need to say.”
He squares his shoulders, takes a breath and shows me his palms. “So me and the guys were headed home from the rink, driving through those curves on Broadway Road?”
He waits for me to nod. Grrr.
“We came up on Taz, going like a bat outta hell and all over the road. He was goddamn lucky nobody was coming from the other direction. The dude was totally wasted. Completely blitzed, know what I mean?”
I flash the OK sign because I don’t trust my voice at this point.
“When his shitty tires hit the gravel on the shoulder, he lost control, went down and wrecked the bike. He got banged up pretty bad. We watched it happen and pulled over. I mean, I don’t like the guy, but we weren’t just gonna drive away. But when Kyle and Marty tried to help him up, the dude started swinging. Jesus Tia, the guy’s an animal. Did you see what he did to Philly?”
“Philly got my sister drunk!” I blurt, but I’m picturing Philly’s face. I’m not sure how Taz managed so much damage without power tools.
Brandon nods so hard he is a bobblehead. “Yeah, Mora’s too young, way too young, and Philly’s an ass. That’s not up for debate, but it’s not like he held her down and poured wine coolers down her throat. She wanted to party. She’s been all over him for months. It doesn’t excuse what he did, but he didn’t deserve that kind of beating. And Taz frigging sucker punched him. The dude is a bulb short of a chandelier and he’s dangerous. So I’m worried about you. Is that so terrible? I promised your brother I’d watch out for you this year.”
“Listen Brandon …” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I admit it. I threw a punch or two to defend myself, but we didn’t gang up on him. You know me. I’m not some friggin ape. And I’m just asking to take you to homecoming. As friends.”
“I’m probably not … there’s no way I can go.” I shrug. “So it doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. What if you get nominated to court?”
I snort. “No worries there.” Today I’m wearing one of Terek’s faded hockey shirts with “I’d slap that'' written across my chest. If I put any less effort into my appearance, I wouldn’t have toothpaste on my boob. Because I wouldn’t have bothered to brush my teeth. I’m not exactly homecoming queen material.
“You’ll get nominated. Then you hafta go.”
“It’s a dance, Brandon. Not an inauguration. I think I can miss it.”
“This is senior year,” he insists. “This is it. Last chance. You should hang out with your friends, enjoy it a little.”
I don’t point out that if I hang out with my friends, he probably wouldn’t make the cut. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s weeks away anyway.”
“If you get nominated, let me take you.” He gives me a look, using his dimples, and I don't know what to think. I never got the story from Taz. I jumped to conclusions, and I’d like to believe Brandon is a decent human being. I’ve kissed this guy, let him roll his tongue around my mouth and paw at my ass.
“It’s gonna be stupid fun,” he promises. He’s half right.
“How did you end up with that pink hair tie?” I poke him in the chest. “You said it was a souvenir.”
His eyes dip away.
“Brandon?”
“I got it from this chick I met after the hockey game last weekend. It was just a one nighter. I didn’t want you to know. Jesus. You really think I stole a pink sissy ribbon from that freak’s hair? You think I’m some idiot bully?”
“So you’re just a manwhore?”
“Yeah. Well, you could change that.” Now he leans right up close to me and nudges me with his elbow. This is playful Brandon, and I always like him better without his friends around. “Say yes.”
My answer shouldn’t have anything to do with Taz. “Maybe.”
CHAPTER 35
TAZ:
After the counselling session fifth period, I duck out of school, skip work and decompress at the Yellow House. I’ve not only hit bottom but lifted that rock and crawled under.
CHAPTER 36
Tia:
I huddle under the covers and hold my breath to listen better, not sure if I’m more annoyed or scared. A noise outside woke me up.
“Hear that?” I whisper to Sam. My faithful hound makes big eyes back at me, tail tucked and ears flat. “I’ll take that as a yes. Shouldn’t you be growling or something?”
I check Ingrid. My latest rescue is lying on his back, paws churning the air, breathing harder than an asthmatic Darth Vader. He makes me want chow mein. I’m gonna need to bathe him again. Is it too much to ask to have one dog who acts like a dog?
Easing out from under the sheets, I peek out the window. There’s someone standing in the side lawn, staring at my house.
After tiptoeing down the stairs, I slip out the front door, cross the porch and walk over freshly mowed grass that’s damp, cold and sticks to my bare feet. I wish for shoes, coat, a bra under my oversized sleep shirt, pimple-free complexion and minty fresh breath. If this was a horror flick, I’d be the first idiot to die.
Taz is just a deeper shadow in the dark, but his long, lanky shape is unmistakable. He has a unique way of standing, shoulders slightly pulled up, chin tipped down, legs braced. He’s wearing the same T-shirt, jeans and ratty sandals from school. The man bun is worse for wear, with silky dark strands falling to his shoulders and curling into his face. He is a fantastic mess, and I now wonder how many girls have licked that sexy little brown dot above his lip.
As I walk up on him, he staggers sideways, arms flailing for balance. Oh goody. He’s either drunk, stoned or plenty of both. His pale eyes seem twice their normal size with bottomless pits for pupils. I hesitate. The look on his face is something new, something dark and mean, and I remember the things Brandon said.
“Taz?” I hug myself. “How long have you been out here?”
He angles away from me, fingers tapping Morse code against his thighs as he paces a tight circle around me. Round and round he goes, steps kicking at the grass and something’s not right. This is more than too much partying. He’s got a reason for showing up so late and is maybe working his way up to sharing, but patience and I don’t often collide.
“Taz? Can we go inside? Hey ...” I finally snag his
hand as he passes. He tugs to the end of my reach and sags. We then stand with me shivering and him staring at his feet. He’s motionless yet potent as an electrical current, prodding my heart into a quicker beat.
I startle when he suddenly looms over me. I didn’t realize he could move that fast and I’m not sure if he’s a wreck because he’s wasted or wasted because he’s a wreck.
“I diddit.”
“You did it?” I whisper. His stare is so sharp it sticks a pin through the flutter in my chest. “Did what?”
He shakes his head and steps away.
“Taz? Talk to me. What was going on with you in school today? Where’d you go?” I get nothing and yet there is so much going on in that head of his. “Why did you come here?”
“Doesn’t matter. Can’t change what I’ve done.”
“C’mon. Let’s go in and ... ” As I grab for him, he deflects my hand and stumbles backward.
“This is over.” He gestures between us, his voice rough enough to chafe.
“Why?” I get more silence and it ticks me off. I wrap anger around the whimpering ball of hurt in my chest and crowd back into his space. Heat radiates off him. He’s not covered in goosebumps or rubbing his arms for warmth. “Why Taz? Speak up. You’re obviously all bent out of shape over something and taking it out on me. I deserve to know. I think you owe me that much.”
Wrong thing to say. He hooks both hands behind his neck and lets out a deep, guttural sound that hits me like a bucket of black paint. While I’m still sputtering, he snarls, “I don’t owe anybody a goddamn thing, and I’m telling you to stay away from me.”
“You came to MY house to tell ME to stay away from YOU? I’m not buying it. I think you’re desperate to talk to someone. You’re here for my help.”
“See this?” He points at his face. “I’m not your kinda guy.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
There’s more head shaking with a whole string of eff bombs and his fingers just about turn themselves inside out. The boy is a bit high strung.
“Is that all you’ve got?” I demand. “Then my answer is no. Give me a reason or you’re stuck with me. And it better be good, because Mora lost my favorite earrings, Tully spilled grape juice on the rug, the twins dumped red kool aid in the washer, and the cat puked on my pillow. Oh, and Theo forgot his goalie pads in the locker room and we had to drive the whole way back to the rink to get them. All of that happened today and guess what? I still love them. I forgave them. Except for the cat. But you know Booger is … nevermind. The point is, I’m your friend. Whatever’s going on with you, that doesn’t change.”
He tips sideways, adjusts his feet and mumbles, “You don’t know what I’ve done.”
It’s my turn to shriek, way too loud and not at all like the good person I almost am. “Because you won’t tell me!”
His mouth moves but he makes not a sound. The look in his eyes just kills me. I see the shame. Fear. Desperation and utter exhaustion. This boy is heartbreaking.
“Taz,” I soften. “It’s OK. I promise. Trust me.” I lift my hand slowly, let it hover for a moment before very carefully, very gently curving my palm to the contour of his cheek. I feel his warm skin and texture of his scars. Now his eyes close, and his Adam’s apple bounces in his throat. I barely whisper, “It’s OK.” Even though it’s not. Whatever is going on with him is far from OK. So I switch to telling him, “I’ve got you,” and take his face in both my hands, easing closer. For just a second, he starts to relax, and I think maybe I can wrap him in my arms and give him some peace. I want that as much for me as for him.
“You can talk to me,” I tell him, my fingers sliding into his hair. “Please, Taz. Let me.”
He breathes deep, his shoulders falling into place on the ragged exhale and leans toward me. “I didn’t have a choice,” he mutters.. “I …”
Headlights turn onto my road. Bright, white light douses the pair of us, sending Taz skidding through the damp grass, dropping to one knee and scrambling back up. Since I live on a dead end, the intended destination of the car is any easy guess, but I still cross my fingers.
Please not Terek, please not Terek.
Turns out, it’s not my brother. It’s worse.
The squad car bumps over the curb too fast, overshoots the sidewalk and parks with the front tires digging into my lawn. Great. Thank you. I’ll need to fix that. Which is already aggravating enough, but then the light bar suddenly sprays red and blue over our faces. I’m betting Mrs. Kirkland from across the street has her nose pressed to the glass, and the boy who was right on the verge of letting me in now fidgets like he’s been doused in ants.
This is such bullpoop. This is Sergeant Twardowski being a total butt worm. He rolls down the window, props an elbow and leans his head out. Brandon looks just like him. “Care to tell me what’s going on here, Tia?”
I arrange my mouth into a smile. I’m barefoot, braless in a nightshirt and cozied up to a wasted boy who everyone loves to hate. He’s bruised worse than an over ripe pomegranate, and it’s after midnight on a school night.
“Nothing much,” I say.
“Kind of late to be out, isn’t it?”
I shrug in an aw shucks what are you gonna do kind of way. “Checking out the stars for an astronomy project.” I point and tilt my head back. I don’t think our school offers astronomy, the sky is overcast, but with all my practice, the lies roll right out of me. Wouldn’t mom and dad be proud? “We were just heading inside to um… document our findings.”
Sergeant Twardowski might be in uniform but he’s pulling double duty. I’ve been to his house for barbecues. He’s been invited over for family picnics. His younger son is Theo’s age, and he and my dad coached them as mites. He’s here checking up on the tribe, being a conscientious friend, but I have to wonder why now?
He picks out Taz. “Where are you supposed to be, son?”
Taz starts to step forward, but I get in his way. He presses right up against my back, his breath scorching the top of my head. Wonderful. Angry Taz is back just in time to huff and puff his way into a pair of handcuffs.
“Buddy,” I’ve never called the man by his first name in my whole life. “I appreciate you stopping by, but we’re fine. And I’m sure you’ve got more important places to be.”
“Not really no.” He pops the door and climbs out of the squad car. He is a big block of a man in uniform, with a gun on his belt, and Taz is more volatile than napalm. What are the odds of this ending well?
I rush forward to intercept our neighborhood cop and keep him as far away from a blitzed Taz as possible. I’m guessing that whatever the boy smoked, snorted or sipped, it’s a violation of his short leash.
Sergeant Twardowski rests his hands on his gunbelt and gives Taz the hard stare. “This is a bad idea, Tia. That boy has seen and done more in his few years than you’ll experience in your whole life. Do you understand what you’re getting yourself involved with here? Exposing your little brothers and sisters to? You know he’s been arrested, been convicted of a crime?”
“Shoplifting.” I throw my hands up with dramatic flair, realize my sleep shirt barely covers my underwear and tug at the hem. “Stealing food isn’t exactly ...”
“Armed robbery.”
Oh. I try not to react but I’m gulping like a goldfish. My spit dries to dust, and I barely manage to croak, “You shouldn’t be telling me this.”
“No, but under the circumstances, you need to know..”
“What circumstances?” I spit back. “That somebody is willing to give Gibson Tazmerek a second chance?”
“That kid blew his second, third and tenth chance a long time ago.”
“Not with me he hasn’t.”
The Sergeant scowls at me. Straightening, he spreads his feet and uses his cop voice. “When’s your mom due home?”
“Soon. This Friday.” I’m outright lying. “Thanks for checking up on us. I appreciate it, but everything’s fine here and I’ve
got to head inside. School tomorrow and all that. Goodnight, Sergeant Twardowski.” I turn away, search the backyard and come up empty. No Taz anywhere.
Sergeant Twardowski says, “Tia?”
I take a deep breath and look back over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Make sure to ask Gibson Tazmerek who was holding the gun for that robbery.”
CHAPTER 37
Tia:
I’m tying my laces, getting ready to head out on my morning run when my phone beeps. I track the faint sound to the jumble of junk by the front door. Unzipping Theo’s hockey bag, I hold my breath and paw through an assortment of stinky equipment. My phone vibrates inside my brother’s jockstrap. Yeah. Ew. The twins are so not my favorites right now.
I rub the screen against my sweatpants before answering. “Mom?”
“Hi honey.” Her voice nearly triggers explosive sobbing. I’m no better at filling my mother’s shoes now than when I used to play dress up as a little kid, and I miss her so much.
“Sorry to call so early,” she says. “I wanted to catch you before school.”
I retreat into the corner of the couch, draw my knees up and grip my phone so hard my knuckles ache. She usually calls on the weekends, so how come ... what if … Every teaspoon of air leaves my lungs and I squeak, “Everything OK?”
“Just checking in. I’ve missed talking to you.”
Mom says this like her and dad are off on a second honeymoon, facing nothing more worrisome than sunburns and jellyfish stings. I am suddenly tempted to scream long and loud. Deep breath. Deeper breath. I pant like an overworked pug and am no closer to calm.
We call my dad The Bear. He has a lot in common with both scary grizzlies and a Care Bear. He’s big and tough and the sweetest man on the planet. I thought nothing could take him down. He and my brother survived the car rolling over three full times before it landed on the roof. The EMTs used the jaws of life to cut them out. Terek walked away with nothing more than a nasty gash on his upper thigh. He didn't wear shorts this summer, but he’s damaged in ways we can't see, and my dad never woke up. The doctors drilled holes in his skull to relieve the pressure on his brain.
Shatter (The Choosy Beggars Series Book 1) Page 16