by T. R. Cupak
“I’m making salmon, quinoa, and roasted root vegetables. I figured I’d go light tonight since last night’s and this morning’s meals were full of foods loaded with sodium that I’m not supposed to have.” I am by no means a good cook, but the few meals I can make, I make well.
“Good call. I was feeling bloated all day,” Britney responds while she rubs her stomach.
“Yeah, me too,” Deacon says as he comes around the corner and grabs a seat at the breakfast bar.
“Hello, my other son.” My mom steps up behind him and wraps him in a big Beth hug, and kisses his cheek before she releases her hold.
“Hey, Mom. And before either of you ask”—he points his finger at both my mom and his sister—“I’m doing fine. I’ve taken my meds as one of you seems to have scheduled alerts in my new phone.” Deacon’s head turns in the direction of Britney.
“Glad to hear, dear.” Mom smiles in his direction.
“I did the same thing to Kade, so don’t bitch.” Deacon looks in my direction with one eyebrow raised, so I shrug my shoulders and nod.
Dinner goes just like it did last night, except Deacon is more talkative. After our conversation this morning, he went to his room for a couple of hours, came out to grab a bite to eat, and then went back to his room. I didn’t know if he slept or if he zoned out watching television, but right now, he seems himself, only dialed down a notch or two.
After dinner, my mom insists that Britney, Deacon, and I relax in the living room while she does all the dishes. Britney tries to argue but fails, which is no surprise. My mom uses Dexter to her advantage by suggesting to Brit that it is probably time for him to go outside and use the bathroom. Of course, Britney does as she is asked—with a smile—and takes Dexter out before joining Deacon and me in the living room.
Since coming home to recover, I’ve gone down the streaming services rabbit hole, binge-watching shows I would have never thought to watch. Tonight, I plan to start a new series. That way, Deacon won’t feel lost or struggle to stay focused because he doesn’t know the characters. Hopefully, we can all relax and try to find some normalcy once again.
“Do either of you want something to drink? Britney, more wine?” I ask as I get up to grab a glass of water. I wish I could have another glass of wine, but one small pour at dinner is all my mom allowed, reminding me that alcohol can affect my blood thinner medication.
“Water,” Deacon responds.
“I’ll have another glass of wine,” Britney answers over her shoulder since I’m already heading in the direction of the kitchen.
Grabbing a bottle of pinot noir from the wine fridge, I place it on the island, and my mom hands me the corkscrew. She puts two wine glasses in front of me and then proceeds to get Deacon and me our water.
“You know, you could just ask him to forget that silly pact you made when you were kids,” Mom whispers from where she’s standing beside me.
“What?” I look down at my mother, and she is smiling.
“You don’t even know you’re doing it, do you?”
“I ask again—what?”
“I don’t think you realize you’re doing it, but you watch her, stare at her, long for her.” She nods in Britney’s direction. “And when you do, there’s a brightness in your eyes, son. You’re in love with your best friend’s sister.”
“Are you reading romance novels again?” I try to derail the private conversation we’re having, but it doesn’t work.
“My boy, romance novels don’t compare to the real-life romance that’s been unfolding before me over the years. Life is too short not to have the love of your life in it the way your heart wants her to be. Your near-death experience should be proof of that.”
My eyes drag up from the bottle I’ve been uncorking for far too long and meet Britney’s gaze. It’s then that my mom’s words strike a chord. More than ever, I want to be freed of the childish pact because I’m in love with Britney Winslow, my best friend’s younger sister. It’s as if my mom flipped a switch, turning on a different part of my brain, because not only do I see Britney, but I can picture our future. Her as my wife and mother of my children. The two of us living like people in love should be living and growing old together. The only obstacle to my path of happiness is Deacon, and right now, he’s not in the best state of mind for me to approach him about his sister.
“You get it now, don’t you, son?” As much as I hate to admit she’s right, I know she is.
“I do, Mom, but let’s focus on Deacon first. The timing of all of this couldn’t be more off.” My mom smiles up at me, nodding her understanding, and then grabs her glass of wine and Deacon’s water, before heading to the living room with me on her heels.
The evening of binge-watching Vikings carries on. My mom leaves after two episodes and Deacon stalks off to bed after the fourth. Britney, on the other hand, hangs in until just after my mother leaves, falling asleep on the couch five minutes into the third episode. Since Deacon went to bed, I’ve been sitting here, watching her sleep. Her arm is hanging over the cushion’s edge with her hand resting on a sleeping Dexter’s head. Each breath she takes is synced with my dog’s as they both rest peacefully.
Britney had struggled to stay awake as long as she did. She’s burning the candle at both ends, what with catching up at work and taking care of Deacon and me. I told her we’re fine, that we’re grown men who can take care of ourselves, but Britney and my mother think differently. As much as I hate to admit it, they’re probably right. Yes, we could take care of ourselves like before everything went to shit, but we probably would ignore everything we both need to heal. We’re men; that’s what we do.
Staring over at what my future could be creates an overwhelming eagerness to walk down the hall and tell—not ask—Deacon that the pact is over with, that I’m in love with his sister, and he needs to suck it up and come to terms with it. But I don’t.
Instead, I sit here, eyeing the space between Britney and the backrest of the couch. It would be so easy to slide in behind her, pull her into my arms, and fall asleep with her body pressed against mine. But I fight off the urge and switch over to a documentary that I’ve been watching. It caught my attention because it’s about a prostitution pyramid scheme. The fact that Deacon and I saved two underage girls from being sold off by Morales, the man behind one of the most feared Mexican cartels in South America, to the highest bidder, made me curious to see it.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t mentally beat myself up for what went down—reflecting on every wrong decision we made. We acted on impulse. Neither Deacon nor I wanted to see two young girls disappear, never to be found. Could we have called it in and tailed the suspects? Yes. And that right there is why I fear Deacon and I will be asked to turn in our badges and resign.
Closing my eyes, I run the scenario through my head over and over. I know it’s too late. We can’t change the outcome. We can only plead our case and hope for the best.
“WHAT THE FUCK?” Deacon’s voice echoes through the open space, startling me, Britney, and Dexter awake. When my eyes focus, I realize Britney is lying on her back with my head resting on her stomach, and my left arm draped over her body. It doesn’t take long before Dexter starts whining, so I unwrap myself from Britney and take him outside.
“D, it’s not what you think. We…” Britney begins to explain, but struggles to find the words since she knows she can’t explain.
“Bro, nothing happened. Britney was asleep before you went to bed. I must have fallen asleep watching a documentary. That’s the truth, believe it or not.” I stand and take the few short steps to the sliding door to let Dexter outside, but I don’t follow. I stay, waiting for Deacon’s backlash.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, man,” Deacon growls back through clenched teeth. I get it. He’s pissed, but for no reason, and it’s not worth fighting over. He’s going to believe what he wants to. “I’m going home today, and neither of you is changing my mind. And no, I don’t want either of
you staying with me. I need space—my space,” he affirms.
“Are you sure?” Britney asks while standing and stretching, her arms reaching above her head. The movement lifts her shirt just enough to show some skin, which makes my dick twitch.
“Yes.” Deacon’s gruff answer has both Britney and me nodding our understanding. He disappears down the hall only to return with his duffle bag. “Can you drop me off at home?” His question directed at Britney.
“Of course.”
“No, wait,” I tell them as I leave them in the living room. I can hear them whispering, but I can’t make out what they are saying. I’m sure Deacon is laying into his sister for us falling asleep next to each other.
Returning to the living room, I hand Deacon the key fob to my Aston Martin. I remind him his truck is still in evidence, and he will need a vehicle to get to and from his therapy appointments, and anything else he needs to do. He takes the key fob without argument or a thank you. Instead, he stalks off toward the garage, slamming shut the door separating the house from the garage, and takes off.
“What the hell was that about?” Britney questions. “Why didn’t you wake me to go home last night?”
“Brit, you were tired and sleeping peacefully. Believe me, I didn’t intend to fall asleep. I just did.”
Scratching on the slider glass brings our attention to Dexter, who is still outside and wants back in, so I slide open the door, and he comes trotting in and straight to Britney, sitting at her feet.
“Hey, buddy,” she says, bending to pet him. “I gotta go. I need to get home and get ready for work. Do you want me to come by later?” She stands to her full height and waits for my answer. I want to tell her to come over every day, or beg her never to leave, but that’s not what I say. Instead, I tell her I’ll be fine, and if I need anything, I’ll text her or my mother. Britney nods, grabs her belongings, and takes off.
Like every other day before Deacon was here, my routine is the same. I take my morning medication with my daily supplements, make an egg white and vegetable omelet with avocado toast, work out in my home gym, catch up on the news, and watch television.
Although today, after lifting weights, I decide to go for a jog with Dexter instead of hitting the treadmill. The fresh morning air will do us both some good. Half a mile down the road, his little legs got tired, so I picked him up and carried him back to the house. I have to remind myself that he’s just a puppy, but as he gets older, he’ll be able to run longer.
I shower, grab some homemade jerky and a water, flop down on my couch, and begin channel surfing for something to watch. The throw pillow wedged between me and the arm of the sofa still smells like Britney’s hair. The scent reminds me of a warm spring afternoon, with notes of lavender and vanilla.
“One more week,” I tell my dick as it begins to chub up thinking about Britney. No one is around, and I feel one-hundred percent healthy, but it would be my fucked-up luck, even though I’ve been jogging, that a jerk-off marathon would cause my heart to go haywire, requiring me to call for medical assistance because my heart explodes or some shit. I want the all-clear from my doctor before taking that kind of risk.
Grabbing my phone, I take a picture of Dexter sprawled out on his back on the living room rug. Just as I was going to send the picture to Britney, a text from Deacon pops up.
Deacon: At the shrink’s office about to go in. Sorry for this morning. Thx for loaning me your car.
Me: Least I can do.
Deacon: I meet with our IA liaison tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted.
Me: Copy that. If you want to grab a coffee later, let me know.
Deacon: I’m good. Just need some space.
Me: Understood.
I send a quick text to Britney with Dexter’s picture attached, filling her in on Deacon in case he hasn’t. She loves the picture and states she already knew about her brother. Something tells me that she went to his house before returning to hers. There was no way she was going to let go of how he left this morning.
All I can do now is sit back and be bored out of my skull.
25
DEACON
Four months have slipped by in a cloud of fog since that fucked-up day. With the assistance of the FBI, Kade and I were cleared by the police department’s internal investigation. Once we got medically cleared by our doctors, we were able to return to work.
Kade received a clean bill of health a week before I was deemed in the right state of mind to continue doing my job. Thanks to my sister’s words back when I was in the psych ward, I’ve done what I’ve had to do to keep up the appearance of being my old self. It hasn’t been easy, but I have mastered camouflaging my PTSD and manic depression, keeping it at bay while I’m at work or around my parents and friends. For a while, I was able to mask it so well; even I almost believed I was myself once again.
My sister and Kade, on the other hand, doubt my sincerity. They both sense something is amiss, and repeatedly tell me that I can confide in them with no judgment, but I don’t. The less either of them knows, the better off they are. So, I smile, I joke, I act like the old version of myself, but that’s all it is—an act.
Each day that passes is another day I struggle to keep afloat. Anjelica’s face haunts my dreams almost every night. I thought if I reached out to the little girl’s father, that it would somehow make me feel better, but it didn’t. I may not have known the man before that day, but I can tell you, without a doubt, he’s not the man he used to be, just as I’m not. I saw the struggle in his sad eyes as he tried to keep his life going. In one blink of an eye, he lost the mother of his child and his little girl. And for what, to save two runaway teens who were heavily into drinking, and drugs, and partying?
I’ll admit, it was a rude awakening for both teens. A week or so ago, they came to the police department with their parents to thank Kade and me in person for saving their lives. They both went to rehab and have since returned to school. They continue to work the twelve-step program and are advocates of a sober lifestyle for their peers and youth group. So, in a fucked-up, round-about way, two lives were lost for two lives to be saved, and those young women have embraced their second chance in life with a positive purpose.
The evening after the girls thanked us, I reached out to Mr. Gomez, hoping to shed some light during these dark days of his life, but his phone went straight to voicemail. I left a message but never received a response. It’s been a couple of days, but this morning, when I got to the police department, Kade broke the news to me that Mr. Gomez committed suicide. The tragic news knocked the breath from my lungs, and without a word, I turned around and left the building.
Kade shows up at my place after his shift. We’ve been assigned to the day shift schedule for the next few weeks. It’s an easier shift, and it allows us to ease back into work after being out for so long. Shortly after Kade’s arrival, my sister shows up.
I know they mean well, but these two are smothering me, and today, I let them know exactly that. I was able to persuade Kade to leave, but Britney still refused to go. It takes a lot more to convince her that I am fine. I am honest when I tell her that I’m sad to learn of Mr. Gomez’s fate, but I have the tools my therapist gave me to cope with the unsettling news.
After an hour, my sister finally caves and leaves my house. All I want is to be left alone. I don’t deserve the life I have. I wish I could be more like Kade. He’s been able to put that day behind him, saying that we can’t change the past; we can only make a difference in the future. There’s truth to his words, but they still don’t mend the broken within me. Nothing is going to take away the darkness that looms inside me.
I’ve thought long and hard about this, so I choose my words carefully as I draft text messages to Kade, my sergeant, and my family. I reread each one making sure the verbiage won’t give anyone a reason to be alarmed, and proceed to send each text.
The text to my sergeant is brief, stating I am taking a couple of days of personal time to cope with the p
assing of Anthony Gomez. The text messages to Kade, my sister, and each parent are more detailed, informing them that I am heading to a retreat in the mountains for a couple of days, and cell phones are not permitted. I explain that the retreat is to help me come to terms with Mr. Gomez’s passing and hopefully find some peace. I promise I will text them when I’m back in cell range. They don’t need to know that I don’t plan to leave my house—ever.
26
KADE
It’s been a week since Deacon texted he would be out of town and would text when he returned, which would’ve been a couple of days ago. He’s never gone radio silent for this long. If anything, he keeps in touch with Britney, but he hasn’t reached out to her either. Something doesn’t feel right, and it hasn’t for a long while. I want to trust Deacon would reach out to his sister or me if he is struggling. But Britney is worried, so I agreed to meet her at his place.
I turn down the gravel road that leads to Deacon’s house on the far side of his family’s vineyard. His house is a modest home in comparison to the Winslow mansion he grew up in. He designed it and had it custom built to be just big enough for him and his future family to grow into. Deacon has never been a flashy kind of guy, except when it comes to his truck. Unfortunately, his PTSD kept him from jumping back into the lifted beast once the repairs were complete, so he sold it and bought a new truck, which I’m surprised to see parked in front of his garage. When did he get home?
Pulling up behind his truck, I put my SUV in park and hop out. Rounding to the back of my vehicle, I open the back hatch to release Dexter. I figured having Dexter here might help some of Deacon’s unease or depression. My dog is days away from being seven months old, and he’s already seventy-four pounds. He’s going to be a big boy who wants to protect and heal those he considers to be in his pack, which currently includes me, Deacon, my mom, and of course, Britney.