Studfinder (The Busy Bean)

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Um.”

  “Hey,” I croak, my voice rough. Where the fuck is Rita? Panic sets in. Did she leave me? Is she still here somewhere? I reach for my phone on the floor. There’s a blow-up of text messages. I ignore the ones from my brother and note the final message from my probation supervisor.

  Shit. Shit! I had a meeting this morning, and I missed it.

  Quickly, I stand and follow Sullivan’s eyes to something on the floor. My wallet lays open on the ground, along with a condom wrapper and the spent rubber.

  “Sully, I—"

  He holds up a hand. His mouth falls open, and then his lids shut tight. I know what he’s thinking, or perhaps who he’s thinking of. I choke on my tongue, wanting to defend myself but not expose Rita. I’m thinking she wouldn’t be pleased if I shared what happened. What we did isn’t anyone’s business. She might not even be pleased it happened with me. Fighting off images of last night, I lower for the garbage and tuck it into my pocket.

  Sullivan shakes his head before his lids open and turns his gaze out the open front door. Sunlight streams into the room, and I wonder again when the rain stopped. I was lost in Rita last night. In her laughter. In her kiss. Inside her. Swiping a hand over my face, I find her scent lingers on my fingers. Shit.

  As Sullivan stares out the door, Rita’s SUV appears in the soaked front yard. She exits her vehicle looking fresh as a spring morning and smiling just as brightly. Coming up to the house, she’s wearing her boots with jeans today.

  “Hiya, handsome,” she greets Sullivan, and a sledgehammer hits my chest. Apparently, calling me handsome isn’t something special. Not that it should matter. It doesn’t matter. What Rita and I had was only one night, right?

  “Hey. We have a problem,” Sullivan mutters as Rita enters the house to see me standing like a dumbass next to the couch. Her expression falls. She had to know I was still here. My truck is still parked in the same position as last night.

  “What’s wrong?” Her gaze stays on me, and she works at keeping her face still.

  What’s wrong? What’s wrong is I woke on this couch without her? “I missed my probation meeting this morning,” I blurt. Not that it explains why I’m really suddenly upset. She walked out on me, left me to potentially be caught, and now I’m scrambling to wrap my head around what happened last night.

  “Jake spent the night here with a woman,” Sully adds, pouring salt into the wound, or maybe he’s fishing for Rita to admit it was her and not just some random woman.

  Rita’s head turns from me to Sullivan, and I twist my neck just once—a crack snaps to adjust the kink in my neck. Her expression remains stoic, not giving away a hint. Not a blush that it was her spread under me. Not a twitch that she was the one to warm this couch with me.

  “We should call your probations supervisor,” Rita states, facing me once more. “Explain the situation.”

  Is she turning me in? This wasn’t a one-way street. She slept with me, too. My heart hammers in my chest. It’s too early in the morning to think straight. I’m missing out on a serious caffeine fix, and my dick has a damn mind of its own seeing Rita standing there in fitted jeans and those darn hiking boots.

  Sullivan doesn’t respond, and Rita hesitates. She looks like she wants to step toward me but doesn’t—or won’t.

  “I can call the officer on your behalf.” Rita’s statement is a reminder she’s my boss of sorts. She’s equally important to the completion of my parole. One slipup with her, and I’m done. Back to prison. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two-hundred dollars.

  I lick my lip and bite the edge of it, wondering what Rita might say to my probation supervisor. She turns to Sullivan again and asks him to give us a minute. His head snaps up, and he glares at me once more, and if I could read his thoughts, they’d include nothing short of physical torture. He grunts before stepping around her and exiting the house. At his disappearance, I rush to Rita.

  “Where did you go?”

  “What are you still doing here?” Her eyes roam my body, noting my day-old clothes. She meets me halfway to her, and we’re hidden from the outside of the house by the wall between window and door.

  “I fell asleep.”

  “I couldn’t wake you.”

  I swipe a hand through my hair.

  “You sleep like the dead,” she adds, crossing her arms. The corner of her lip slowly curls before she straightens her mouth and her posture. Her arms fall to her sides. “What were you thinking?”

  “Last night?”

  “This morning.”

  I stare at her, caught between wanting to throttle her for this conversation and kiss that sassy mouth.

  “What was wrong with last night?” she asks, her voice lowering.

  “Why weren’t you here this morning?” My tone softens as well. I didn’t like waking without her. “You could have left a note.”

  “And what would it say?”

  For some reason, that hurts. That hurts hard, like a slap to the face or a punch to the sternum. My lips twist in confusion. I’ve misread everything, I guess.

  “I’ve never done this before,” Rita quietly adds, and I don’t know what she means, but I can’t keep going back and forth with her. I have larger issues at the moment by the label of probation officer.

  “Would you really call my parole supervisor?” What will she say?

  “I think we should and explain what happened.”

  “You’re going to tell him you slept with me?” Rita’s head snaps back like I’ve slapped her, and I see I’ve misread something all over again. Her shoulders fall, and her fisted hands raise to her hips.

  “No, I was thinking I’d explain the rain. Say you had truck trouble, and we approved for you to spend the night. Then I’d apologize for not informing him. Or maybe you could take some credit and say your phone was dead.”

  She’s certainly good at the alibi. All plausible issues in a rainstorm and much better than admitting I lost myself in her for a night. My head turns to the rumpled drop cloth draped over the couch, and I take a minute to consider what happened last night.

  We had sex on a dusty covered couch in a partially built house. Not exactly how I imagined my first time after so many years. Not exactly who I imagined I’d sleep with after all that time. I turn back to Rita, taking in her appearance. The curve of her hip in her jeans. The fit of her T-shirt against breasts I touched last night. The tension in her lip as she stares at me.

  “Thanks for covering for me,” I admit, hating how wrong that sounds. Rita’s expression holds firm, but there’s the hint I’ve been looking for. She’s hurt, and it’s all my fault. I’m handling this wrong. I’m not handling it at all. She’s taking the lead to cover for me. “I’m sorry.”

  “For last night?” Her brows lift as her eyes widen. Her voice rises with a squeak.

  “For right now. It’s morning. I’m foggy and I—”

  “We ready to get started yet? I’ve got things to be done today,” Sully interrupts us, poking his head around the opening of the front door. Rita takes another moment to look me right in the eye before twisting her neck and then turning her entire body, giving me her back.

  “Yeah. I’m going to step outside and call Jake’s parole officer. Then I need to get to the office.”

  She isn’t dressed for her office. She looks like she was ready to spend the day working around here, but she’s already walking toward the door, not giving me a second glance.

  Everything in me wants to reach for her, tugging her back to me, and explain. Last night meant a lot to me. Being like that with her, entering her, it felt honest and real. For the first time in years, I didn’t have to think. It was only thoughts of her.

  But this is the morning after, and I should know better. I’m always in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Rita confirms what I’ve already thought of myself. I’m not the right man for her.

  The rest of the day was shit, and it only got worse when I finally arrived home.

  �
��Where the hell have you been?” Nolan asks, both concern and a chuckle fill his voice, hoping I’ve caused mischief which I’m not allowed to do.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I hope there’s a woman involved.”

  “Nolan, not now.” I sigh, heading to the staircase. I need a shower and a beer. My room is on the second floor, having traded places with Nolan. When our mother died, I took her room on the first floor, and Nolan gave Rory mine, so they shared the upper space. When Nolan was injured, he had to move to the lower level, and my things were put into his old room, stacked in a corner, awaiting my return.

  “Rory’s coming home tonight for dinner.”

  I freeze partway up the staircase. I haven’t seen my nephew in years. Seven to be exact. Everything happened so fast. Nolan’s injury. My arrest. Rory was simply left alone at seventeen. Nolan and I only had communication via telephone for the longest time, and when he finally did come to see me, he came alone. He didn’t want Rory seeing me in that place.

  Good people make bad decisions all the time.

  I shake my head at the notion of seeing Rory after all this time. Turning around on the stairs, I gaze down at my brother in his chair. He loves his son. He’d do anything for him, and so would I.

  And I did.

  “I can’t wait to see him,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as my brother smiles with fatherly pride. Rory might have grown up fast, but he also kept his shit together. He eventually went to Burlington U on scholarship and currently attends Vermont Law, graduating this summer. It’s almost ironic Rory wants to be a lawyer, putting away the bad guys, fighting for the good ones. I don’t want to be bitter, but between Rita’s dismissal, the issue with my probation officer, and now Rory’s visit, I’m worked up.

  “I want to hear about this woman,” Nolan says, pointing a finger up at me. “I need all the details.”

  “After I shower,” I say, suddenly wanting to collapse in bed and skip dinner.

  A half hour later, I’m on my third beer when Rory arrives.

  “Uncle Jake.” I stand on shaky legs and hold out a hand to greet Rory. He’s a man in every way and the spitting image of his father. Same dark brown hair. Same dark eyes. Only he’s skittish with good reason. He knows I know. Over seven years ago, my nephew and his friends might have caused a fire that spiraled out of control, and I took the fall for it.

  It’s difficult to look Rory in the eye, and he’s suffering the same. Still, we put on a good show for Nolan. Everything for Nolan, especially now. My brother has become quite the cook in our kitchen at a wheelchair-accessible height, despite the peanut butter and jam sandwiches. He’d been a volunteer fireman like me, and his favorite thing was making dinner for the men and women in service. Typical Nolan, he loved to gather people and make them laugh, stirring in a little innocent trouble.

  “How is school?” I ask as Rory takes a seat in the living room.

  Rory rubs his hands against his thighs. “Yeah, good. Things are good.” Awkwardly, we pause in a position of sit and stare without actually staring at one another. With a tight smile, Nolan glances between Rory and me. My brother’s brows pinch as his eyes flit between us.

  “So. Dinner?” I turn to Nolan, who nods, and Rory and I stand again, following my brother into the kitchen. The space is already tight with his wheelchair and the addition of me. Putting three of us in the room, it’s cramped. Still, we sit and eat in staggered silence and single-word answers to questions Nolan prompts, trying to pull his son into the conversation.

  “How’s Brynne?” Nolan asks his son.

  “Brynne?” I ask. “You got a girl?” A smile fills my voice, but Rory’s gaze drifts to his plate. He pushes around his food. Brynne. For a unique name, it sounds familiar.

  “I’m getting married.”

  My fork pauses midair as I turn my head to Nolan. “What? When?”

  “This fall,” Nolan says, offering a weak smile.

  “Why haven’t you told me?” Rory will be graduating this summer. Is the wedding a secret?

  “I’m marrying Brynne Dunhill.”

  I take a moment, but then the name registers. “Lisa’s niece?” My head twists from Nolan to Rory and back.

  “Lisa came around a bit when I first got home, and she’d bring her niece. Rory met her then, but they didn’t start seeing each other again until he entered law school.”

  “Brynne. Lisa’s niece?” My ex-wife’s niece will be joining our family, and no one told me. Hell, no one even told me Rory was getting married. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I didn’t want you to be upset,” Nolan states. “I know it was hard when you and Lisa separated.”

  “When she divorced me,” I remind Nolan.

  “We didn’t want to make things difficult for you.”

  “Difficult? How?” My heart begins to race, and the most awful thoughts about my younger brother enter my head. “Did you fuck my ex-wife?” I see it all playing out like some damn romantic drama. Younger brother loses older brother who takes care of fucking everything for him, and the ex-wife arrives having her heart broken, even if she did the breaking, and they find consolation in one another.

  “Hey,” Rory defends.

  “You know I couldn’t fuck someone at first,” Nolan states.

  “Why is this even a discussion?” Rory interjects.

  “You aren’t answering my question,” I demand of my brother.

  “No. No, I didn’t fuck her. I wouldn’t do that to you,” Nolan states, staring back at me, and the implication becomes clear. Lisa wanted it. Maybe Nolan wanted it, too, but he didn’t act on it. I press my chair back, causing the feet to screech across the tile.

  “I need some air,” I state. I toss my fork to my plate and stalk to the front door, pulling it open with more force than necessary. I don’t bother closing it. Racing down the ramp we now have installed before the house, I head for the street and walk.

  Immediately, my thoughts fill with my ex-wife. She wanted the divorce. I didn’t. Can’t make a screwdriver fit a nail. We were in the middle of our separation when the arrest happened. Our future became one more part of my history. We were over. Still, I can’t get over the shock of Rory getting engaged and to a Dunhill of all people.

  Continuing down the street, I inhale the fresh mountain air deeply, dismissing memories of my ex-wife. Our house is in an area of smaller homes a few blocks from downtown Ashbury. It’s a community where homes outside the town are growing larger and larger while the historic district grows more decrepit looking. The closest high school services five municipalities, making it a community unit school, and my thoughts drift to it. While it’s been over twenty-five years since I’ve attended high school, my nightmares return to the building often.

  Most haunting in those nightmares is Rory and his friends standing outside the school on a dark night. I was driving home after another fire investigation. Assigned to the entire county—one man for almost twenty firehouses and a slew of volunteer fire people—I’d been stumped for the first time ever in my career. A rash of blazes had occurred over the past three months in vacant warehouses throughout the county. Nothing was making sense other than their vacancy.

  Suddenly, nothing mattered as I neared the high school, finding another blaze roaring at one end of the building and a group of teens standing around watching it.

  I pulled into the parking lot, jumped from my truck, and called out to the boys.

  “Hey,” I yelled as the air filled with the strong scent of smoke. “Hey, what the hell is going on?” A few heads turned. Others didn’t. At the sight of me, the boys began to scatter, but I recognized one. Rory.

  Chasing him across the empty lot, I was quick to catch him, tugging him by the collar to stop his retreat.

  “What are you doing here?” I snapped, holding him by the neck.

  “We didn’t mean to do it,” Rory said. His gaze returned to the school, telling me something was amiss. The scent coming off m
y seventeen-year-old nephew was a mix of sweet weed and explosives.

  “Rory, tell me the truth.” Fear rose inside me. What had they done?

  “We were smoking behind the maintenance shed and setting off fireworks. The fireworks were more boom than sparks, but . . . I don’t know. One must have gone astray.”

  Idiots.

  “Don’t move,” I warned Rory. “Call 911.” I remember wondering why the fire department hadn’t already arrived. The fire alarm should have gone off, but I didn’t hear it. Releasing my nephew, I decided to investigate on my own. I headed toward the building, rounding the side, hoping any late-night cleaning staff might have already left. As it was summer, the school would be vacant, and at the late hour, I didn’t fear anyone would be present in the school.

  Checking a side door entrance, I found the doors locked. Heading around the back of the building, I was eyeing the maintenance shed near the football field when an explosion occurred. Windows busted. Flames flared into the night air. I raced back around the front of the building to find I was the only person in the lot other than the first sheriff to arrive on the scene.

  Instantly, I knew how it looked. I was running around a burning building. The boys were gone. When I was brought in for questioning a few days later, I was caught on the schoolyard cameras on both the side of the building and the back. There was no sight of the boys near the football field.

  “Uncle Jake.” My name rings out in the quiet darkness of the lone street, and I turn to find Rory racing after me.

  “Jake, I—” Out of breath, he stops running and bends at the knees. “I-just. Give me a minute.” He lifts a finger to signify a pause.

  “Need to work on your stamina if you’re getting married, kid,” I bitterly tease.

  Rory stands to his full height, which matches mine. He’s broader than me, huskier like my brother once was, but it’s evident we are related. We all share the same dark brown hair, the same cut to how we stand with our shoulders hunched forward, same tilt to our heads when we speak.