I tear away and flop onto my ass with such a thump, the overhead light rattles. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Maybe we can pretend the last five seconds never happened? The look on her face says otherwise, says my boner is getting its own page in her diary. So I jab a hand toward her knee and blurt, “Where’s your brace?”
She blinks back at me, eyes huge, cheeks pink and speechless for maybe the first time in her whole life.
“Where is it?” I demand, almost shouting, so bent out of shape you’d think she’s hiding the owner’s manual to my pacemaker. Jesus.
“Bottom drawer of my desk.” She points.
I dig through the drawer. I gotta find the brace, gotta find it, gotta, gotta, gotta. I shove aside old student ID’s, some weird mouthguard thing, a brush, cracked Ipod, my heart beating hard enough to throw a rod. Yes! I hold the knee brace above my head and wave it. I am a tool. She nods. OK. Yup. Everything back under control. I just need to tug the thing up her leg. Tougher than it sounds but no problem.
Except ...
Some dude busts the door open so hard it bounces off the wall and nearly slams him in the face. His furious face. Since he’s a supersized version of Theo, I’m guessing this is the older brother. He expands with every snorting breath, filling the room until the walls and ceiling bulge.
I’m not sure why he’s so pissed off unless … Wait up. Rewind. Here’s a sample of what Tia was saying with big brother on the other side of the door:
“Don’t force it.”
“Let’s try a different position.”
“Wait, wait. Should we move onto the bed?”
“Tell me where you want me instead of just pulling on my legs.”
“I’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow.”
Finding me crouched over his little sister looking all kinds of wrong, the dude now snags me under the pits and throws me ass over elbows into a dresser. I land on my neck, foot clipping the corner and there’s a sharp sting, a princess shriek and lotsa dog barking. Way too much noise, but none of it from him. I love this dude. No threats. No name calling. He’s action and no talk. My kind of fight.
I untangle myself and then can’t decide between sparing Tia this bloodbath and begging the guy to do his worst. I bet he could do a really good job of it. He’s straight up going to kill me, and I can’t friggin wait to get started. Yes, yes, bring it. Feed the crazy.
I shake out my arms, stepping up, when Tia throws herself in-between. She shoves against her brother’s chest, slamming him once, twice, but not moving him an inch. She’s no match for my carved up face. I’m the red cape and he lowers his head for the charge.
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” she shouts, her voice mixing with New Dog yapping so hard his front paws lift off the ground. His vocal range climbs a record breaking ten octaves and my gray matter dissolves into slush.
“Terek, don’t! No fighting. Not in my room. Not with my friends.”
Terek? I’ve heard that name. I know this guy. Know of him. He’s the dude everybody calls Rat. Weird. He doesn’t look like a rat. I’ve seen him in action, and he’s more of a mountain lion. Mutt took me to an underground fight, where guys kick and punch the piss outta each other for a quick buck, and this guy is a stampede in the ring.
“You OK?” Tia asks me, and I nod without taking eyes off the threat.
Big Brother twists his right fist into his opposite palm, T-shirt stretching to contain his swollen biceps. He’s got a tampon stuffed up one nostril and black-and-blue smudges under eyes that prey on me. “Hells he doing here?” he snarls.
“Stop it. Calm down.” Tia spares another glance over her shoulder at me, her plastic smile proving she’s not as good at playing pretend as little Tulip. “Everything’s all good.”
Tell that to New Dog. Latching onto my pant leg, he shakes his floppy ears hard enough to cause brain damage.
“I tracked down Philly.” Big Brother talks over Tia’s head and jerks his chin at me. “Looked like an animal mauled his ass. You did that?”
I nod.
“Good,” he says. “But fuck with my sister, any one of them, and you’ll wish you had it as easy as Philly. We clear?”
He slings a heavy arm around Tia’s neck and curls her into a headlock. I buzz like a kicked hive. If he hurts her, I don’t give a flying spit who this dude is or what he can do in a ring. I will massacre him.
“Don’t be a jerk.” Tia wrestles out from under, swats him across the back of the head and he bumps her with his hip. To me she says. “Don’t listen to him.” Then the two of them, at the exact same time, with the exact same head tilt, snap, “Stop that!”
Me? New dog? I go still, and the ugly little ball of fluff flops onto his back and paws at the air.
“Why does that dog smell like pussy?” blurts Big Brother.
“Jeez Terek!” Face flaming, Tia jabs his ribs with a pointy elbow. “Seriously? Could you not act like you, just this once?”
“Hey, I’m just saying.”
“Well don’t. Don’t say anything. Just keep your disgusting mouth shut. And Ingrid doesn’t … He smells like lo mein.”
“I like the taste of both so …”
“Ugh,” Tia pushes at him some more. “I’m telling mom.”
“You really want to go there?”
They are all hands, shoves, jabs, nudges, bouncing off each other like a paddle and ball, some invisible string tethering them. Might as well throw lit matches at me. Muscle spasms spread across my shoulders and all the way down through my fingers. Up on the balls of my feet, I shift around but there’s no clear path to the door. They’re blocking me in. I glance at the window, imagine a swan dive and hitting the ground in a shower of glass and crunching bones. Might be worth it.
“What are you even doing here on a Friday night?” she challenges him.
Big brother leans against the wall, crosses his arms and zeroes in on me. “Took the sibs for ice cream. We’re gonna watch a movie. Everybody downstairs. No exceptions and only blood relatives allowed admittance.”
She looks at me and says, “I’m so sorry my brother is a giant idiot. His shoe size is higher than his IQ.”
“Hang on.” He widens his eyes, straightens and a grin splits his face. “You gotta be shitting me! No way, no way. Now I get it.” He points from the giant poster of some pouty dillweed on Tia’s wall to me and barks a laugh, laughs so hard the back of his head thunks off the door frame. “Have you asked him to sign your poster yet?”
“You don’t know your butt from your armpit, so just shut the hell up,” Tia snarls and rips the tampon out of his nose.
“Ow. Jesus.” He tests his nose with his fingertip.
“I mean it. Not one word or I’ll get even. I’ll tell Mora you’re the one who slept in her bed when she was at cheer camp. And used her body wash to clean your hockey equipment. And knocked her eyelash curler into the toilet.”
“Ah that’s cold.”
She grabs his arm and manages to drag him a couple steps. “Stop being an itchy butthole and go watch your movie.”
“Nope. Think I’ll just hang with you two kiddos for the duration.” He flops backward, spread-eagles across the bed then lifts his head to find me. “Ever watch Peaky Blinders?”
Tia makes a sound, a cross between a scream and a growl. I’m not sure if he’s picking on her or making fun of me, but I’m not sticking around to find out.
“I gotta go,” I mumble.
“My work here is done,” says Big Brother. Whatever. Got the memo. I don’t belong here. Tell me something I don’t already know.
Tia yanks the pillow out from under his head and swats him in the face with it. “Be nice.”
“Hey! Don’t make me sit on you, baby sis. I’m baking some hot farts.”
“Ugh.” She turns to me, hands on hips, doing her head tilt thing. “Please don’t leave just because my brother’s being a fuggly poopsicle.”
He waggles his fingers at me. “Great talk, buddy.”
“Oh my
God,” her voice rises into ear-bleeding decibels. “You’re being such a jerk right now. You are so not my favorite anymore. And here I was gonna thank you for telling mom to trust my judgement.”
“Yeah, because I didn’t want her to worry. She doesn’t need to know you’re running with scissors.”
I stop listening. I gotta get home before curfew and avoid wherever this is headed. I ease around the bed. Big Brother sits up, holding the pillow to his chest, looking me over and no way, no way. Once was enough to know I’m not a fan of inhaling feathers. Juvie is not a happy place for weirdos like me, and now my tics jump all over me, get me dancing as if a cockroach just ran up my pant leg. He notices. Yeah, I’m the mayor of Crazy Town, but at least I don’t … I sniff to make sure. Yep. He smells like a feminine hygiene product.
I must be too obvious because Tia tells me, “My brother reeks because he works at that body shop at the mall.” I’m thinking auto mechanic until she says, “The one that sells girlie lotions. Terek gets a discount. He’s got this ridiculous idea …”
“Proven theory,” he corrects her
“That girls …”
“I’ve moved onto women.”
“Are attracted to …”
“Helpless against.”
“Lavender.” She doesn’t bother hiding her eye roll. “So he smells like an old lady’s handkerchief.”
“He smells like crotch shampoo,” says Baby Barbie from the doorway. She props a shoulder against the frame and picks at her nail polish. There’s a Thing with her. Just one. I’ve never seen one without the other. I thought they were the same as socks or headphones or balls. “Leave him alone, Ter. He smells better than you, and we’re keeping him.”
She could be talking about me or New Dog.
“PMS,” announces the single twin. “Puking melted snot.”
Baby Barbie snorts a laugh and comes back with, “Penis mucus showers.”
WTF? This whole family is beyond bonkers.
Tia clicks her tongue and then says, “Pornographic manatee sex,” right as the missing twin shows up.
He blurts, “Palm my sack.”
“Nice.” Big brother gives him the fist bump, then says, “Puckered martian scrotes.”
They all look at me with matching eyes and expectant expressions, and I would give anything for the ability to evaporate.
Baby Barbie tells me, “PMS, the acronym. It’s a game we play. Fill in the blanks.”
Um. For a second, I just stand there and sweat. They wait. My brain hums louder than a defective amp. They wait longer. I think this is some kind of test and I’m an expert at failure. Then I glance at Tia. A hopeful smile waits for me. She wears it like flowers in her hair, so fresh and pretty. I convince my mouth to answer back. “Penetrating messy snatch.”
“Hah!” Big brother tosses his head, his every expression and movement exaggerated and the opposite of my goal in life. Leaping to his feet, curling a hard arm around my shoulders, he wrestles me like a rottweiler’s chew toy and announces, “You are my kind of disgusting.”
CHAPTER 46
TAZ:
My back pocket buzzes. Again. My head buzzes. Always. I ignore them both.
Guitar in one hand, work boots in the other, I stand in the damp grass and watch shadows move across lighted windows. Whatever pumped life and warmth into me back at the West house didn’t survive the walk to get here.
I shiver, breath puffing clouds from my lips and wish I was sucking Mutt’s weed into my lungs. I’m borderline manic, my fingers, toes and every single muscle building into a whole-body earthquake, one twitch at a time. Any second now, I expect to crack and shatter into a million pieces.
I need to ask Super Tool about staying out after curfew for a gig that’s happening tomorrow night. Mutt’s got us booked to play some local dive, and I’ve known about it for over a week. Asking shouldn’t be a big deal, but for me it’s huge. I’m getting all crazed and Step Douche is gonna say no. I’ll do it anyway. Maybe it gets me sent away. Maybe I disappear. I wonder how long Tia misses me before getting herself a new rabbit to save. I wish she’d chase me in circles until my heart explodes.
My sandals scrape the steps as I work my way up onto the porch. The overhead bulb kicks on automatically. I know if I could manage to stand still, it’ll wink out in ten minutes, making it possible to creep on the happy family inside. But I’m too jittery and cold to hide in plain sight tonight. There’s a ratty green blanket and an unheated garage with my name on it.
I wrap my knuckles against the door, hear footsteps and as it swings open, I smell meatloaf. I wonder if any leftovers will end up in the garbage and get pathetically excited. V for Vivian thinks she’s got a problem with raccoons. I’ve heard her bitch about how they manage to get inside the locked cans, and she recently added bungee cords. Thinking about it gives me a twisted little thrill but also pisses me off.
“Six times,” announces Step Douche the Super Tool and his scowl carves lines into his forehead. I’m not impressed with him either. Sweater the color of infected snot. Fancy watch flashing on his wrist. Green and purple striped socks on his stupid-ass feet. Ever since the Prick and Balls beating, he’s jacked up the pressure, constantly texting, calling, digging through my stuff, checking every box. He says he’s invested in my future. He should try for his money back.
“I’ve called six times, Gib.” He holds up his phone to prove his point. “Do we need to go over the rules again? How are you failing to understand the consequences of your actions? Are you deliberately obtuse?”
I bet he keeps a thesaurus by the toilet.
“You don’t think I have better things to do then keep tabs on you? The deal is, you come straight home from work. How hard is that?” He props his hands at his hips and puffs his chest. “We’ve been over and over this.”
I agree. We keep circling the drain of the same old shitter. Fucken flush already.
“C’mon in, Gib.” He pushes the door wider and steps back, making a sweep with his hand. “Come inside. We need to sit down, talk about what’s been going on. Some things have come up, and your mother and I want to make sure you understand.”
I’ve been in the house twice for a grand total of eight minutes. I’m not allowed to touch anything. My feet on the floor are almost more than V for Vivian can tolerate. The last time, the sound of her voice tore me into confetti.
I step backward and Super Tool drops his chin on a big, loud sigh. “I can’t imagine how much work it must be to make every single thing as difficult as possible.” He finally steps fully onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind him. “Fine. Sure. We’ll do it your way. Have a seat.”
Nope. I’m still holding my guitar and work boots, and yeah, they’re getting heavy, but I might need to mad dash, and I ain’t leaving ‘em behind.
Step Douche sinks onto the swing and rubs at his eye sockets, cuz he’s just so damn tired after riding around in a Mercedes, sitting in a cushy office chair and super tooling it up all day.
“It’s turning colder, Gib,” he mutters through his fingers.
No coat, no socks and I just spent over an hour pounding the sidewalk, making a popsicle outta my dick, so his weather report isn’t necessary.
“How long do you think you can get by above the garage? What about when the temperature drops down to twenty degrees and the snow piles up?” He curls his hands over his knees as he looks up at me. I stare at the part in his hair. It’s so stupid perfect he probably uses a ruler. “How long can you keep going this way? Are you prepared to freeze to death for the sake of a line in the sand? How bad does it get before you give a little?”
He’s accusing me of something. I’m too busy pumping myself up to figure out what. I need to ask, need to ask. My tongue sinks to the bottom of my mouth, drowning in a pool of saliva and my palms sweat.
“You’ve got a brother, Gib. A great kid. Jamie sees you going in and out of the garage and doesn’t understand it anymore than I do. I don’t know what to tell h
im.”
Ah. The Prodigal Son has caught a glimpse of me slinking around. We can’t have that.
“No? Still nothing to say?” He pushes with his toes, rocking the swing back and forth. “I keep cutting you breaks, and it’s not getting us anywhere. I don’t know what more to do, and I can’t let this go much further.”
Was that a threat? I adjust my grip on my stuff. I need to ask, need to ask, need to ask. But see, there’s repercussions to speaking up and it never ends with me getting what I want.
Step Douche sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. “What’s on your mind? Something. I can see it.”
“I …” That’s what I get out there. One word. One syllable. One friggin letter. I glance at my guitar, like maybe it could give me some help.
He spreads his hands and widens his eyes. “C’mon, Gib. Would it kill you to have an actual conversation? You’ve lived here what? Two, three months and I can count the words you’ve spoken on one hand. You’re not making any effort to acclimate.”
He might as well have both hands squeezed around my throat.
“We’ve disrupted our lives for you,” he tells me. “Yet you’re determined to give us nothing but silence and problems in return. I’ve had it. Enough is enough. The hard time you’re causing your mother stops now, do you understand?”
Fuck it. Fuck him. And fuck this. I shift my boots under my left arm, snag the tracking device from my back pocket and half throw it at him.
He fumbles it, considers tearing into me, but then just thumbs through the phone with his mouth pinched at the edges. “What’s this?”
Oh crap. I forgot. Tia texted me about running with her today after work. I never deleted it. Shit, shit, shit. I can’t remember what she said.
Shatter (The Choosy Beggars Series Book 1) Page 21