“People are not born hating the world. Those people usually feel like the world hates them.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Wow. That’s some insightful shit, Dr. Phil.” She stood with her tray in her hands. “Come on. We’ve got about five minutes, and I need to pee like a racehorse.”
I smiled and shook my head as I lifted myself out of my chair. One thing I’d learned living on Staten Island for the past few months was that New Yorkers overdramatized everything. Mallory was loud and proud as she liked to put it. That’s how she introduced herself, and I liked her instantly. Everything Mallory said was filled with passion and conviction. She could make a conversation about a dish towel sound interesting. We decided to become friends when we realized we were in three of the same classes this semester. Though we were different in most ways, she was a good friend. I needed that, now more than ever.
College was much different from high school, as was Staten Island from my small town back in Florida. Nobody cared who I was or where I came from. Nobody asked questions. Nobody even noticed me. I went to class, and then I left. I kept to myself. That was it. Despite being one of the few girls here with blond hair and blue eyes, my plan to blend in was off to a great start.
I followed Mallory across the cafeteria to the garbage cans. Like magnets, my eyes found their way to Tanner again. He joined in the conversation with his friends now and then, but he never smiled. His irises were as dark as his hair, and his facial features were set in a natural scowl. What had happened to him? Something must have. I tried to picture him punching someone, angry and red-faced, but I couldn’t. He looked too calm. Reserved. Stoic.
“Charlotte! Watch out!”
One of the football-playing boys jumped backwards to reach for his friend’s overthrown pass and crashed into my tray. My soda spilled all over my shirt, soaking the ends of my hair. Sauce from the pizza remnants on my plate smeared against my chest. All the boys shouted in unison, as if they were at a live football game, making me feel all the more horrified. So much for blending in.
The boy who knocked into me turned just as red as I knew I was. He picked up my tray from the floor and set it on top of the trash area. “I am so sorry. Are you okay?” Worry flashed in his bright green eyes as they lowered to my cast.
He was cute. Why hadn’t I noticed him earlier?
“I’m fine. Just suddenly regretting the decision to add extra ice to my soda.”
He smiled and outstretched his hand. “I’m Gabe.”
“Charlotte.” I shook his hand and mustered up a sheepish smile.
“Nice throw, dipshit!” Mallory screeched to the boy who had thrown the football. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”
I picked up the empty cup from the floor and tossed it into the trash as I walked toward the exit.
“You’re leaving already?” Gabe asked.
I waved as I walked backwards. “I have to get to class.”
Gabe pulled a black Sharpie out of his back pocket. “Wait.” He closed the distance between us and gestured to my cast. “May I?”
I held my wrist out, watching as he scribbled something onto my cast.
“Call me later.”
Mallory tugged on my elbow before I could respond. “Let’s go, girl!”
I took the door Mallory was holding open for me and walked outside. “Alright, how dumb do I look?”
“Dumb, no. Wet rat, yes.”
Great. We walked briskly down the path, attempting to make it to our building before Professor Ballard started calling attendance. Everyone would already stare at us for walking in after the lecture began; my soaked and sauce-stained shirt would only cause them to stare longer.
Just then, I heard the sound of footsteps hitting the sidewalk behind me. Clutching my purse, I spun around. Both confusion and curiosity collided in my mind.
Tanner Brooks was chasing after me.
Tanner
Mallory leaned in to Charlotte’s ear. “Keep walking.”
What the fuck did I ever do to Mal? I slowed to a walk beside Charlotte. She stiffened, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead. “Gabe’s a nice guy, but he’s not exactly a gentleman.”
“What?” She turned her striking blue eyes toward me.
I tore my shirt over my head and held it out to her. “You’re going to be cold sitting in class with a wet shirt.”
Her eyes traveled down my torso. Now I had her attention. Girls were so easy. Flash a six-pack at them, and they start drooling.
“Uh … n-no. No thanks.”
No?
“That must be such a foreign word to you.” Mallory snickered.
“Fuck off, Mal.” I looked back at Charlotte, whose eyes were still glued to my body. Good. She was interested. “Charlotte, I’m Tanner.” I draped my shirt over her shoulder and offered her the slight smirk I knew girls loved. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I turned around before she could reject me again and strutted back in the direction of the cafeteria. Let her get a look at my ass as I walk away. It’s a fan favorite.
Who was this girl, and where did she come from? I would have seen her before if she lived on the island. I definitely would’ve tried to get between her legs. She was eating lunch in the cafeteria, so she must go to school here. Then again, so was I, and I didn’t go here. No, I didn’t have the luxury of college.
At my car, I swung my work shirt around my shoulders and buttoned it. Back to reality.
Charlotte
My mouth fell open and I stood there, blinking, as I watched Tanner walk away. I didn’t know if it was from the sheer shock of him giving me the literal shirt off his back, or because I was mesmerized by the way his ass looked in his jeans. That was a good ass to have.
Mallory rolled her eyes. “Reel your tongue in. I’ll go find us seats.”
I changed in the bathroom and ducked into class. Tanner’s shirt smelled like delicious, manly cologne. It was five sizes too big on me, but I was grateful that I did not have to sit in wet embarrassment for the next hour. The air conditioning was cranking in every building in the late-August heat, and I would have been cold. For someone who was preceded by such a scary reputation, Tanner’s gesture was thoughtful and kind.
Ten minutes later, in the middle of Professor Ballard’s lecture, Mallory passed me a note. I had to stifle a laugh when I unfolded it:
Wipe that dreamy look off your face. I know what you’re thinking.
I quickly scribbled my response:
Gabe was cute. What’s his deal?
Mallory huffed as she wrote and then tossed the paper onto my desk the next time Ballard turned to the white board again:
Don’t pretend to be sitting there in Tanner’s shirt thinking about Gabe.
I glared at her and crumpled the note. If Tanner was trouble, then I needed to steer clear of him. I had barely escaped my father’s drama back in Florida, and all I wanted was a quiet, normal life here in my new residence. I focused on the professor for the remainder of class. However, I did allow myself to inhale the scent of Tanner’s shirt several more times before the lecture was over.
When class let out, Mallory and I walked toward the parking lot together. “Don’t walk home today. I’ll give you a ride. It’s sweaty balls out here.”
“I’m going straight to the bakery. I can walk.”
“Shut up and let me give you a ride.”
As grateful as I was, I took my life into my hands every time I got in the car with Mallory. Riding with a New York driver was like a scene out of the movie Speed, except there was no bomb aboard the vehicle, and therefore no reason to drive like a maniac.
The shopping plaza was crowded when we arrived. A white Escalade cut in front of us, and Mallory slammed on the brakes for the third time since we’d gotten in the car. She flipped her middle finger and held down her horn as the driver sped past us.
“Jeez, Mal.”
“You’re in New York now. The people here are crazy. You’re going to have to toughen up if y
ou want to survive.”
“That’s not tough. That’s just aggressive driving.”
“Beeping your horn is hardly considered aggressive driving. They put the horn here for a reason.”
“I highly doubt they put the horn there to accompany your middle finger.”
She laughed. “You bet your ass they did! Oh, look! There it is!”
I leaned forward to see out the windshield as she signaled to turn into a parking spot. The name painted on the glass door of Dad’s new bakery read La Dolce Vita in puffy teal letters. I was admiring the storefront when a silver car quickly turned in front of us, taking the spot we’d been waiting for. Mallory hit the brakes, again, and I braced myself with my hand on the dashboard.
Mallory rolled down her window. “Fuck you, asshole! I’ll find where you live and kill your whole family!”
“Jesus Christ, Mallory!”
She opened her mouth and placed her hand on her chest. “We will find another spot. No need to take the Lord’s name in vain, Charlotte.”
I giggled and sat back in my seat. “You’re nuts!”
Mallory whipped into another spot. As I stepped out of the car, I was hit with a foul stench. “What is that smell?” I pinched my nose. “It smells like hot garbage.”
Mallory smiled as she puffed out her chest. “That’s the smell of Staten Island. Home of ‘The Dump.’”
“I heard they closed that down years ago.”
“They did. Imagine what it smelled like while it was open.”
I grimaced as I pushed my sunglasses to the top of my head. We stepped inside the bakery, and a silver bell knocked against the glass as the door closed behind us. The smell of fresh paint wafted up my nostrils. Everything looked shiny and new. The glass display cases were bare, waiting to be filled with dozens of cookies and cakes. It paled in comparison to our old bakery in Florida, but it was untainted by bad memories of frightening men who snapped bones in half for fun. This was all we had now. It was a good enough place to start over.
Dad emerged from the kitchen. “Hi, girls. What do you think?”
“It looks great in here, Mr. Thompson.”
I motioned to the wide storefront window. “You should get some tables and chairs to put by the window here. Maybe a couple outside, too.”
“Yeah. This way, people can enjoy the lovely aroma of pollution with their morning croissants,” Mallory quipped.
Dad chuckled. “All right. I’ll let you pick out the tables if you want.”
I ignored his offer. “The teal paint looks great.”
“Mom’s favorite color. Are you ready to be my main cashier?”
I shook my head fervently. “No, thanks.”
“Can I work here, too?” Mallory asked.
Dad smiled. “Of course.”
“We’re not working here,” I said.
“Come on, Charlotte. I could use the extra money, and we would have so much fun working together!”
Dad took a step toward me. “You always loved working in our bakery.”
I shot him a that was before I had my wrist snapped in half by two gangsters because of you look.
“Please?” Mallory whined.
I let out a defeated sigh. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. Not without an explanation, and I knew I didn’t have one. “Fine.”
Dad and Mallory exchanged triumphant grins.
I knew my friend couldn’t understand why I did not want to work with my father. After seeing only a handful of interactions between the two of us, she’d decided that I was “mean” to him. I hated hearing that. Dad and I had always been close, and we’d often dreamed about what it would be like to run the family business together once I was old enough. Now, I wanted nothing to do with the bakery—or him. It was difficult being cold toward him. But it was even harder pretending everything was okay.
Though I was relieved to be twelve hundred miles away from John and Tommy, I still looked over my shoulder everywhere I went. I’d been traumatized, and I carried the constant reminder around on my arm in the form of a cast. I hoped the paranoia would go away in time.
And I hoped it would take the resentment toward my father with it.
Two
Tanner
Another shitty lunch in this shitty cafeteria of this shitty school. But I needed to get away. Away from my job. Away from my family. Working at my parents’ auto body shop had its perks, but those perks were diminishing right along with my father’s health. Being here with friends was something that could take my mind off everything for a while, even if they acted like jackasses. I used to find them funny. I didn’t find anything funny anymore.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Charlotte. Her blond hair, like strands of gold, caught my attention when she walked through the door. It was rare for anybody to have blonde hair on Staten Island. It was also rare for anyone to have a face like hers. Beautiful. Flawless. Oh, shit. She’s walking toward me. I put my phone down and my back straightened in my seat.
“Thank you.” She held my neatly folded shirt out in front of her. “I washed it. I hope you don’t mind. I followed the proper care instructions on the tag.”
I raised an eyebrow. Did she seriously think I gave a shit if she washed it? “You didn’t have to return it.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to keep it.”
“Why not? Probably looks better on you.” The image of Charlotte in my shirt and nothing else flashed through my mind.
“I don’t need it. I have lots of shirts. I mean, not from other guys. I just mean that I have … my own … shirts … like, in a closet. I bought them … with my own money.”
She’s nervous. What was it about me that made her nervous? I hoped it was because she found me attractive, and not because she’d heard what I did to Jimmy Panico. Mostly everybody has been scared of me since that day. I don’t want this girl to be scared of me.
“Good. I’m glad you have lots of shirts. I like the one you’re wearing.” I lowered my gaze to her perky tits sticking out of the top of her neckline. They weren’t big, but they were perfectly shaped and bouncy. I’d been thinking about how they would feel in my hands since I saw them outlined through her wet shirt yesterday. Clearly it had been too long since I’d been with a chick if that’s all it took to get me going.
She looked down at her tank top, and her cheeks flushed. I’d embarrassed her. She was definitely not like any of the girls I had known. Most of them wanted their tits to be stared at.
“Okay, bye.” She turned and walked away.
I could feel the corners of my mouth tugging upward. It had been so long, I almost forgot what it felt like to smile. I wanted to run after her. I wanted to ask how she broke her arm. I wanted to ask why her eyes looked so sad. I wanted to know everything and anything I could about her.
Then, I heard Gabe call her name. Her face brightened when he spoke to her. Her face didn’t do that while she was talking to me. It was probably best that I didn’t try to pursue things any further with her. I was a piece of shit, and she was an angel. Gabe wasn’t good enough for her either—I wasn’t sure who would be—but at least he wasn’t fucked up like me.
I dumped my tray and headed back to work. My brother was on me as soon as I walked through the garage door of the shop ten minutes later.
“You’re late,” Chase called from his side of the garage.
“Yeah, well, you were gone for two fucking years. I’m allowed an extra five minutes for lunch.”
“When are you going to let that go?”
“When are you going to get off my ass?”
Silence.
My self-righteous older brother had returned from California not too long ago. I wish he hadn’t. He was a pain in my fucking ass. I was angry at him for leaving to pursue his dream while I was stuck here. Now, I’m even angrier he returned. Chase being home is yet another reminder of our depressing reality: Dad is dying.
I needed to drown out my thoughts. I reached into my toolbox for my ear
buds and stuffed them into my ears. Turning up the music on my iPod, I shoved it into my pocket and got back to work. Burying myself in work was just about the only thing I could do at this point.
Later that afternoon, Mom left to take Dad to another doctor’s appointment. Chase went home for the night. I liked being here alone. I preferred solitude. I was in the front office getting ready to close out the register when the door opened. Fuck me. I forgot to flip the sign to Closed.
To my surprise, Charlotte walked through the door.
“Charlotte. What are you doing here?” Did she know I worked here? Was she looking for me? Judging by the shock on her face, she wasn’t.
“I, uh … I saw the car sitting in the lot out front. It’s for sale?”
“You want that car?”
“How much are you selling it for?”
“Eight thousand.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “That piece of junk is $8,000?”
“That is a 1969 GTO! That is not a piece of junk!”
“It’s completely scratched and dented.”
“Sure, it needs some body-work and a fresh coat of paint. I know the numbers aren’t matching, but it’s still a classic.”
“Numbers aren’t matching?” she echoed.
“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Not in the slightest.”
I slid the register drawer closed and dangled a set of keys in front of her face. “Let’s go for a drive.” I walked around the counter and held the door open with my foot, hoping she would follow.
She walked past me out the door, and I was relieved. Every little inch she gave, I would take. “Do you know how to drive stick?” I asked, knowing damn well that she didn’t. Most girls didn’t. Especially on this godforsaken island.
She groaned. “It has a stick shift? Forget it.”
“That’s okay. I’ll drive so you can see how it runs.”
“There’s no point. I can’t buy it if I can’t drive a stick.”
I swung open the passenger door for her. “Just get in the car.” I wasn’t ready for her to leave.
The Other Brother (The Collision Series) Page 2