“Hey, hey.” He points at my feet. “Treat my Twat with respect.”
Wheeling into Minnie’s bakery, he takes the turn a little too fast, a little too sharp and the Twat bounces hard enough to qualify as an amusement park ride. As he eases into a parking spot, he glances at me and says, “I’m commando with my socks on inside out cuz there’s no clean laundry. I brushed my teeth with baking soda after forgetting to buy toothpaste and don’t even ask about the toilet paper situation. So no, I wouldn’t say I fixed everything, but I did what I’m good at. I kicked some ass. Next time, pump up your balls and ask for help if you need it.”
Tossing an empty water bottle into the backseat, I roll my eyes at him, “How about you let me know when you’re done ovulating and ready to hang out at home, maybe go see dad?”
He doesn’t answer, making a show of shifting into park and pocketing his keys.
So I get louder. “Go ahead.”
“What?”
“You’re gonna have to ask.”
He turns in his seat, his right arm wrapped over the back rest, and in a hoarse voice, finally works his way up to asking, “How’s dad?”
Right after the accident, I sat with my dad for hours, stupidly thinking that if I held his hand long enough, he’d wake up. I talked at him until my throat turned raw and I had no words left. I confessed to filling Terek’s shoes with grape jelly and breaking the lamp Mora got blamed for. I threatened to adopt a great dane, chug Jack Daniels and get my nipples pierced. When I was told my giant, invincible dad would be moved across the country, to the Mayo clinic, I truly believed I would never see him again. I can’t describe the pain.
I see that same devastation right now pinching my big brother’s features. Looking closer, there’s something else digging into the corners of his mouth and haunting his eyes and I’d give just about anything to know what he’s hiding.
“Dad recognized me, said my name,” I tell him. “He smiled and squeezed my hand.”
It might not seem like much, but there’s hope, and we’ve been waiting a long time for it. Terek grabs hold of the steering wheel and presses his forehead into it for three long seconds, his shoulders bunching, the muscles in his arms swelling. Then he suddenly jumps out of the car as if he’s racing a stopwatch. “C’mon”.
I guess we’re done talking about it.
I trot after him, catching up as he pushes through a door with a jingling bell and we step into the smell of baked heaven. Minnie’s Bakery is one of my favorite places and a threat to the size of my thighs.
The girl behind the counter catches sight of my brother and calls out, “It’s my favorite toolbag!” She’s his best friend’s girlfriend and so teeny she can barely peek over the display case.
“It’s my favorite dwarf,” he snarks back.
“Hi Cleo.” I offer a finger wave. Despite a lifetime crush on her boyfriend, I still like her.
“Hey Tia. Senior now right?”
I nod while my brother leans over the counter, checks out the muffin choices and blurts, “UPS.” Bouncing on his heels, he follows with, “Ugly Penis Sores.”
Cleo laughs, sticks her tongue out at him and comes back with, “Unmanageable Pussy Slime.”
“God, I LOVE this chick!” Terek announces, throwing his head back, staggering sideways and clutching at his heart. “When’re you gonna trade Shake for a bigger dick?”
If you haven’t caught on yet, my brother is a gross animal. But I’m happy to see him acting like his regular, immature and disgusting self. Maybe there’s hope for him.
“You are the biggest dick I know,” Cleo tells him with a smile and double middle fingers.
“Uncomfortable Porcupine Sex,” I offer up. They both look at me, look at each other and with identical shrugs, say, “Meh.”
Tough crowd.
We buy a dozen muffins, green tea for me and a cookie and cream frappuccino with extra whipped cream for Mr. Girlie Pants. When we’re back in the car, we dig into the box and choose the biggest and best two muffins. We know better than to head home and share before we’ve taken what we want. I savor a quick bite of white chocolate, raspberries and fairy dust and try not to moan as it melts on my tongue.
Wiping crumbs off my chin, I pull one sneaker up onto the seat and angle myself toward my brother. He’s not going to like hearing this, but I need to come clean. My little white lies were meant to protect him and instead made it easier for him to check out. So with a sinking feeling and my heart bobbing up into my throat, I admit, “With the money you’ve been bringing in, I managed to avoid overdrawing the household account, but I haven’t kept up with bills. Nearly everything is overdo and accumulating late fees.”
Terek nods once, then looks over, and even with his hair flopped over his eyes, I catch the brief flash of hurt.
“I saw the new water heater, the stack of bills, the holes where shit’s missing,” he says, then huffs. “Actually, I didn’t see it. My head was too far up my own ass to notice. Taz pointed it out. You should have told me.”
Color me surprised. Taz?
“I’ll get more honey,” my brother promises. He tosses his half-eaten muffin back in the box and scrubs his hands on his jeans. “I’ll… I’ll find something that pays better, work more overtime, something.”
“Ter, you’re already working way too much as it is. I need your help at home. So um, I talked to Mom about it. I finally told her the truth, and she’s gonna take out a mortgage on the house.”
That was tough to say, and it gets worse when he deflates, his color leeching away like I just pulled the plug on whatever was keeping him going.
“There’s no other way,” I rush to tell him.
“A mortgage? More debt? Fuuuuck.” He slaps his palms off the wheel once, twice and on the third time the horn blares.
I want to apologize to him, but I don’t. There’s sadness clinging to him and no way to make it magically go away. I’m just beginning to figure out how to handle my own misguided sense of responsibility.
“Mom’s flying home later tonight,” I tell him. My mother is hopping on a plane right when my dad probably needs her the most, but I know it’s what he’d want her to do and I’m trying real hard not to blame myself for it. “Just for a few days, to get everything straightened out.”
“This is all me,” Terek goes on, and I’m not sure he even remembers I’m sitting next to him. His eyes are glassy, chin jutted forward, Adam’s apple bouncing as he swallows. “If I hadn’t … if I could …” Staring out the windshield, he sniffs and shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it. It’s all good.” My brother is anything but good. He’s the equivalent of a ripped garbage bag, functional but leaving a messy trail.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” I try.
“Nothing’s going on.”
“What happened the night of the accident, Ter?”
“Drop it.” There’s a mean edge to his voice, sharp enough to bring a quick burst of tears to my eyes, so I quit. I sip my tea, take three tries to swallow, and then blurt, “Stop being an asshole.”
I get a puff of a laugh for that. “Sorry,” he says, reaching over to shove my shoulder. “I’ll make sure I’m home more often, OK?”
“It’s a start.” I shove him back, because I’m mature like that.
“I’ll help out. And if you need something, just let me know and I’ll make Theo do it.”
I snort and we shift a little closer to normal.
CHAPTER 59
TAZ:
Mutt lopes in from the kitchen, a pile of sandwiches stacked on a … is that a friggin hubcap? The dude is a walking circus, but he makes a wicked grilled cheese. He has this magic wand cheese-melter-thing that looks suspiciously like the hair straightener I saw on Tia’s dresser.
After making space on the coffee table, he dumps himself onto the couch and around a mouthful of sandwich says, “Esmeralda. That chick from Hunchback.”
Shae rolls his head against the back of
the chair. “You idiot.”
“What’s wrong with Esmeralda? She sings and she’s smokin.”
“You can’t pick a cartoon,” I tell him.
“Why not? Slim Shaedy over there picked Jessica Rabbit or Daisy Duck or some shit. Least mine isn’t an animal.” He points at our drummer. “You’re a sick fuck.”
I toss a couple bucks on the table and grab a sandwich. Mutt snatches up my cash, flings it back at me and snarls, “Is that how it is?”
“First of all, Jessica Rabbit isn’t actually a rabbit,” Shae says, poking at his phone before looking up. “And second, you’re a dumbshit. I said Jessica Simpson in her daisy dukes. Jesus, Muttugly, smoke another spleeth.”
“Well fuck me with feather.” Mutt grins, then turns on me. “You don’t pay for food. Not here. And it’s goddamn insulting when you keep trying.” Tossing his hands, he says to Shae, “What do we do with him?”
“How about I hold him and you punch some sense into him.”
I tense and glance toward the door, then hope they don’t notice.
“Dude, you are seriously pissing me off,” Mutt barks. Yup, he noticed.
He lives in a converted two-story garage, sleeps upstairs, and we have the downstairs as our practice space. It’s too hot and smells like peanut butter, but there’s just enough room for a defeated-looking couch, lopsided armchair, coffee table and music gear. Shea and I fight over the armchair, but he’s bigger, so I’m wedged into the corner of the couch, trying not to touch anything. I can’t even guesstimate how many girls our bassist has nailed on this thing.
“I’m bored.” This is classic Mutt. “Wanna jump off the cliff into the gorge?”
I’m starting to nod when Shae says, “Jumping there is illegal. And dangerous, so … yeah, not a chance.”
“Congratulations. You’re the most boring person on the planet.” Our bassist now packs a bowl and zeroes in on me, so I grab Pauline and start noodling. I’m in a piss-shit mood and while music normally carries me somewhere else, to a place where I am someone else, it’s not working tonight. I’m still me, the asshole who couldn’t manage homecoming and let his girl go to the dance without him. And with my first day back to school rushing up on me, let’s just say I’m a little uptight.
“You’re like having a hyperactive pet squirrel,” Mutt tells me. Nevermind he’s got more moods than a thirteen-year-old on her first rag.
“Mutt,” Shea warns.
“Hear me out for two seconds.” He splays his long fingers and puts on his serious face. With his mop of hair pulled into a sprout on top of his head, he looks freaking ridiculous. “Our favorite prodigy is acting all jittery and I’m worried he’s gonna pull some chicken shit move and just take off.” Mutt’s got big issues with anybody ditching him. “Don’t do it.”
There’s a little voice in my head telling me not to trust this to last, but I make sure to mean it before telling him, “I won’t.”
“Amen to that,” Shae mutters.
And Mutt’s back to showing off his pearly whites. “You, my friend, just need to get your dick wet, and I can make that happen.”
“Are you two almost done flirting?” Shae growls at us. “Is practice over? Cuz I need to get my kid.”
Mutt gently tamps the bowl, tap, tap, tap, still not satisfied, because the same guy who showers with his clothes on to do his laundry is persnickety about his weed. Finally sparking his lighter, he closes his eyes and the sweet smell fills our practice space. My tongue sits heavy in my mouth. I haven’t smoked in four days, and I start to reach for a taste, desperate to dull my edges, but then remember I’m trying to be a new and improved me and closer to what Tia deserves.
I pull my hand back, and Mutt’s not happy. He requires a playmate. He retaliates by snatching my phone off the couch and starts sifting through my text messages. He has no fucken manners.
“Gibby, Gibby, Gibby, is this Minivan Girl? She’s texted you like a bazillion times. Why didn’t you text back? Are you a heartless prick or a dickless shit?”
I cuddle up with my guitar. Screw him.
“Gibby, Gibby, Gibby,” he says again. “You know I’m not gonna let this go, right?” Without taking a breath, he insists, “I know you dude, and I gauran-fucken-tee this chick doesn’t know whether you’re coming or going. You gotta show her. Tell her. Prove yourself. You wanna keep a girl, you keep working. Figure she’s your full time job.”
I squint at the king of the twelve-hour relationship.
“Hey,” he says. “I get more tail than anybody you’ve ever met.”
He should wear a flea collar, the horny idiot.
“Can’t believe I’m saying this.” Shae gathers his sticks into one hand and leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Mutt’s right. With this kind of girl, you gotta make an effort. Take her on actual dates.”
“No cash. No wheels,” I spit out, like that’s what stopped me. A date never occurred to me. I could be a bigger loser, a worse boyfriend, but not without giving her an STD.
“No cash, no wheels,” Mutt repeats, using a voice that sounds like he's been licking ashtrays. He seems to think it’s the perfect imitation of me. “You suck, Gibby, you know that? You wrecked your bike, left it on the side of the road without bothering to call either of us for help. Might as well spit on us. For chrissake, borrow my truck. Borrow money. Ask for rides. Eat the food. Fucken stay with me. Your mom hates your ass. You think she’d be anything but tickled if you crashed here? And whatever’s had your balls in a bunch lately, give us some fucken credit.”
I don’t realize I’m saying no until Mutt says, “Stop shaking your fucken head at me.”
I look to Shae for help. He stares at me, waiting, patient, then finally steps in.
“What Muttugly there is trying to say is that we’ve got your back. When somebody fucks with you, they’re fucking with us. Say the world, we help you out. You don’t need to keep doing the same old shit over and over. Make some changes for the better, and we’ll be right there with you.”
Mutt and I exchange looks cuz Shae just described himself. His phone has blown up our entire practice, and we goddamn know who it is, and it pisses us off because our drummer’s ex is a succubus. I’m hoping we can gang up on him for a while, when Mutt sputters, “All right. All right. One crisis at a time. Let’s pin down your girl. Do I know this chick? What’s Minivan Girl’s name?”
Nope. Not saying a word.
“Tia West,” Shae sells me out.
“West? Wait. Not Rat’s little sister?” Mutt finds this hilarious. He actually stamps his feet. “Rat’s going to keeeeel you.”
“And a cop’s daughter,” Shae helps.
“Even better. Go big or go home. So let’s chat her up. Get a party going. She’s got friends, right?” Mutt starts tapping out a text. ON MY PHONE. Too far. I jump up, toss Pauline on the couch and grab at him. He extends his arm straight up, laughing at me, and I get sucked in EVERY damn time. So I tackle him. We crash onto the coffee table, roll ass over elbows and thump onto the floor, onto the filthy floor that hasn’t been cleaned since Mick Jagger was in diapers. FYI, I spot some girl’s thong under the couch. Yeah, ew.
“I’m running a preschool for morons,” Shae mumbles, beating his sticks against the arm of the chair.
Mutt and I have been happily stepping on each other’s dicks since we met in court mandated group therapy. We came up with the idea of the band during endless hours of community service, walking the edges of highways in our reflective vests, collecting garbage and fixing potholes. He already knew Shae, and making music with these two is like taking mental vitamins.
“Gibby’s gal is busy tonight,” he says on a drumroll. “While he’s here playing pattycake with us, she’s at the homecoming dance. All dressed up pretty in a little black dress, surrounded by dudes just itching to get under her skirt.”
WTF? I climb off Mutt, phone in hand and scowl at Shae.
“We text.” He lifts his chin, smirks and spread
s his hands. Mr. Innocent. I’d kill him, but I’d need five friends and a sledgehammer. “She’s cool. And prime babysitting material. I’m not giving her up.”
“What the hell, Gibby?” Mutt gives me a shove as he gets to his feet. “Get at that, you pussy. What’re you doing here with us?”
“Band Practice,” I offer my lame excuse. “Remember?”
“I like my idea better.“ He claps twice then rubs his palms together and bounces, loving this. “Who here wants to get busy with a life size Barbie doll?” Both he and Shae raise their hands. They stare at me, and I don’t know what to do with myself so my fingers start up like they’re coated in something sticky.
Mutt looks from my flailing hand to my face and here comes a rash of shit. “You’ve tapped that, right?”
Now my eye twitches. Isn't this a riot?
His grin spreads faster than spilled milk and he actually snorts. “Hold up. Have you not banged this chick?”
“Piss off.” My comebacks are always well thought out.
“I win. Pay up!” Shae is all sorts of excited and holding out his hand. Mutt’s already digging in his back pocket, muttering about how I’m a disgrace to the band. I can’t believe these two losers bet on me.
“Douche-canoes,” I growl.
“Told ya,” Shae laughs, making a big show of folding the bill in half. “She’s a high caliber gal and he’s helpless.”
“She came to a show,” Mutt argues. “How could he not close on the rockstar cred?”
I wave my hand in the air. “Sitting right here.”
“Remember he basically crawled up his own butthole at our gig,” says Shae.
“Still here,” I remind them.
“Gibs, man, you been too busy buying Midol or what?” Our bassist waggles his head back and forth, cracking his neck. “No worries. I gotcha on this. We’re getting you laid. There’s an after party, right? There’s always an after party. We can crash it.”
“Not interested,” I waste my breath.
“She goes to your school?” Mutt’s already fishing out his phone. “I’ll find it.”
Shatter (The Choosy Beggars Series Book 1) Page 30