Chapter 2 #2
By that point Micky was laughing so hard he was barely making any noise. “Nah, I’m good, bud. No problems there.”
“You sure? They got little pills for that, you know?”
“Little pills for what?” my baby sister asked from behind me. I jerked in surprise and turned.
“How the fuck did you get here?” I asked, looking over her head for my parents.
“I paid Titus forty bucks,” she replied smugly.
“Fuck, Titus is here too?” Micky barked.
“Nope,” she said happily. “He just dropped me off. He didn’t want to get in trouble.”
“Why the fuck did they even let you through the gate?”
Myla laughed and rolled her eyes. “Like they’d tell me I couldn’t get onto the property.”
“You’re leavin’.”
“I am not,” she said, taking a hasty step backward. “It cost me forty bucks!”
“Not my problem,” I growled. I finally caught sight of my mom across the room. “Ma!”
“Myla Rose,” my mom yelled, her voice cutting through the noise in the room.
“I hate you,” Myla hissed, kicking me in the leg.
“Come on, short stack,” Micky said, dodging her swinging arms as he threw her over his shoulder. “Time to go.”
“I just got here,” Myla bellowed, wiggling like a worm on a hook. “Dammit, Micky!”
“You’re in so much trouble,” my dad barked. He was trying to keep his face straight, but I could see the laughter in his eyes. While he definitely didn’t want Myla in the middle of a club party, I could tell that he admired the balls it had taken for her to sneak her way in.
“How the hell did you get here?” my mom asked. She turned on my dad. “Did you know about this?”
“I’m fifteen,” Myla said in exasperation, still slung over Micky’s shoulder. She let her body go limp and was hanging there like a sack of potatoes. “I’m old enough to go to parties.”
“No you’re not,” Mick snapped. He looked at my parents. “I’m gonna take her ass home.”
“Thanks, baby,” my mom said with a sigh, rolling her eyes. “Happy Myla? Now your brother has to leave to take you home. We’re supposed to be celebrating Otto.”
“Or I could just stay.”
“Not happenin’,” I replied, reaching out to yank her hair.
“It’s not even that crazy in here! Is this because of the chick in the corner?” she asked, whipping her head up to look at me. “I’ve seen boobs before, Otto. I have some.”
“Jesus Christ,” Micky muttered in disgust. “Shut up.”
“Boobs,” Myla yelled. “Tits! Boobies! Breasts! Titties! Nipples!”
“She gets that from you,” my dad muttered as Micky strode quickly toward the door.
“Yeah, right,” my mom replied dryly.
“Pretty sure it’s from both of you,” my grandpa Grease joked as he joined the group. “How the hell did she get here?”
“Titus drove her,” I said, watching Micky wrestle Myla out the front door.
“He’s dead,” my dad muttered.
“She paid him forty bucks.” I choked back a laugh. It was probably the easiest forty dollars Titus had ever made.
“And got caught less than five minutes after he’d dropped her off,” my mom said in amusement. “Poor Myla.”
“Poor Myla, my ass,” I scoffed. “I told her she couldn’t come. Micky told her. Even Rumi told her.”
“I would’ve guessed that Rumi snuck her in,” Gramps said thoughtfully.
“Nova’s mellowed him out some,” my mom replied. “She’s good for him.”
All of us looked across the room to where Rumi was dancing on the top of a table, his hips grinding on some invisible partner. As we watched, he tore off his shirt and Nova whistled, leaning forward to tuck a dollar bill in the waistband of his jeans.
“Oh, yeah,” Gramps said dryly. “She’s really calmed him down.”
The rest of the night had no more surprises and went by in a blur of back slaps, congratulations, and drinking.
I’d slowed down quite a bit because I didn’t want to have big black spots in my memory, but I still drank way more than I should’ve.
When I woke up on a couch the next morning, my head felt like it was going to explode and even the dim light coming through the windows felt like knives stabbing into my eyes.
I stumbled to the bathroom and when I came out a few minutes later, my sister-in-law was waiting for me.
“I brought you coffee,” Emilia called softly. “And a breakfast sandwich from Charlie’s shop.”
“Bacon?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, sitting down beside her. “I feel like shit.”
“I figured you would,” she replied with a smile, handing me the coffee cup and sandwich. “You always do after you drink.”
“The price of vice,” I joked.
“Do you still get migraines?” she asked thoughtfully as I unwrapped my sandwich.
“Not very often.” God, my stomach was churning but the food still smelled so fucking good. “Once a month, maybe?”
“And any time you drink, right?” She kicked off her shoes and curled her legs up under her.
“Yep. Can’t escape the hangovers.”
“Micky barely gets them.” She dug in her purse and pulled out a small bottle, handing me a couple of Tylenol.
“Oh, yeah?” I wasn’t really interested in Micky’s hangovers or lack thereof. I nodded my thanks for the painkiller and swallowed them dry before taking a tentative sip of the scalding coffee.
“Rumi has to drink a lot to feel sick the next day.”
“They’re the lucky ones, I guess,” I muttered around a bite of food.
“Did you have a good party?” she asked, wisely changing the subject.
“It was fun,” I confirmed. “How’s Rhett? His ears any better?”
“He’s whiny.” Emilia rolled her eyes. “But he’s been on medicine a few days, so I think he’s just soaking up the attention at this point.”
“Smart kid.”
“I left him and Micky in front of the TV watching cartoons.”
“You didn’t have to bring me breakfast.”
“I know, but I felt bad that I had to leave last night.”
I waved her off. “No big deal.”
“Are you excited that you got your patch?”
“Listen to you, spoutin’ off the lingo.”
“I’m learning,” she said with a laugh.
“Not excited.” I shrugged. “Relieved, maybe? Settled, mostly.”
“You feel settled?” she asked dubiously.
“You know, just glad. I’m here for good.”
“Was that ever in question?”
“Nope.” I took another bite, thinking. “I’m betting it’s like gettin’ married. You know you’re gonna do it, and once it’s done, you’re relieved and…content, I guess.”
“That’s a really weird analogy, but okay.”
“I know,” I said dryly. “And not a very good one—you can get out of a marriage.”
“And the Aces are for life,” she said softly.
“Right.”
Emilia sighed and leaned back on the couch before wrinkling her nose and sitting forward again. “This thing stinks.”
“It’s been in the middle of the clubhouse for the last twenty years,” I replied dryly. “Who the fuck knows what’s on it.”
“Gross,” she cried, hopping up.
“I haven’t caught anything from it yet,” I said, stuffing the last of my sandwich in my mouth. “I think you’re safe.”
“The next time you see I’m about to sit down, remind me of this conversation.” She glanced around at the other dilapidated couches.
“No way,” I joked. “I’ll remind you once you’ve been there a while.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I took another sip of my coffee, and finding it cool enough to drink, slammed it back while Emilia watched in amusement.
“Feel better?” she asked as I got up to throw away my garbage.
“Yeah.”
We walked companionably outside, and I fumbled for the sunglasses that I’d stuck in the neck of my T-shirt. It was an overcast day and was clearly going to rain again any minute, but it was still too bright for comfort.
“Thanks again for bringing me breakfast,” I said, knocking my arm into hers as we headed toward the forecourt where we’d parked.
“Welcome.” She grinned at me. “It gave me an excuse to get out of the house and get my own coffee.”
I laughed and waved as she headed toward her car. Me and Emilia had always gotten along, but I’d had a serious chip on my shoulder when she’d taken off for parts unknown and left Micky without a word. When she’d come back, I’d been pissed. The audacity.
Then, while I’d been watching out for her and Rhett, her old boss had somehow snuck into Micky’s house.
Seeing her at the business end of some asshole’s pistol had put things into perspective, to say the least. After that whole situation, we’d gotten a lot closer.
Putting it mildly, she mothered me, and I allowed it.
She’d never had siblings and it kind of felt like she was making up for lost time with us.
I rode home, letting the wind blow away the cobwebs left over from the shitty rest I’d gotten on the couch.
As always, the sight of my house brightened me up a bit.
My dad had given each of the adult kids the opportunity to buy one of his project houses if we wanted to.
I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have even thought of it except for the fact that he’d had to buy Emilia’s old house for Mick after my brother had trashed it.
The situation had actually worked out well, so Dad had offered the same deal to Rumi a couple years later.
I’d seen the writing on the wall and by the time he’d made the offer to me, I’d known exactly which house I wanted.
He’d had the old farmhouse for a couple of years by then because it hadn’t been like his usual fix-and-sell properties.
For one thing, it actually had property and all of the other flip houses were in neighborhoods.
The house sat on ten acres of forest overgrown with blackberries that needed to be cleared.
For another, it was smaller than he usually messed with and he’d known that in order for it to make the kind of money he’d wanted, there would have to be some major fucking work done.
I’d had the place for almost a year and it was nearly unrecognizable from the house it had been before.
After spending a solid month of summer nights and weekends on my uncle’s tractor, there wasn’t a blackberry in sight.
There was new gravel on the driveway, I’d replaced the siding and painted the outside of the house and detached garage a pale yellow, and just in time for the rain, I’d fixed the roof.
“Still need a garage door opener,” I mumbled to myself as I hopped off my bike and went to roll up the garage door. The inside was dark as I pulled in and I reached out to pat the cover on my Mustang. “You stay out of the rain.”
I laughed at myself as I jogged toward the back door of the house. I needed to get a dog or something before I started talking to all the inanimate objects in my place and not just the car.
The back door didn’t have an overhang and the rain started pouring as I fumbled to unlock the door. By the time I got inside, I was soaking wet.
Cursing, I toed off my boots in the doorway and padded into the kitchen in my socks, stripping off my jacket as I went. I kept the house pretty cool when I wasn’t there, but it felt a whole lot colder than it should’ve been.
“Fuck,” I barked, knocking on the old thermostat with my knuckles. It was stuck at seventy degrees and I knew it sure as hell wasn’t that warm inside.
I fucking loved my house. I did. But I sometimes wondered if I’d bitten off more than I could chew when I’d picked it.
Some day it was going to be awesome and I knew it, but so far the siding had started peeling away from the walls and once that was fixed the roof had begun to leak.
Then a pipe to the septic tank had gotten clogged and backed up nasty ass water into my bathroom tub—I’d almost sold the place then because fuck that shit—then the kitchen faucet had needed to be replaced.
I’d spent two months trying to get rid of mice in the walls after I’d fucked with their habitat by clearing the property and they’d swarmed inside looking for shelter.
Cursing, I put my boots back on and headed down to the basement to see if I could figure out what was wrong with the furnace.
As I passed the back wall of the kitchen, I reached out and unconsciously touched the bottom of one of the picture frames hanging there.
Inside was a photo of my grandparents when they were young.
Grandma was holding a newborn—my dad—and sitting on Grandpa’s lap.
When Gram had seen the photo, she’d looked at it for a moment and then turned to me.
I like your house. This’ll be a good place for a family.
I couldn’t really imagine having a family or even a steady girlfriend at that point, but I’d still felt a little something in my gut when she’d said it.
It did feel like a place you’d put down roots.
Not once since I’d bought the place from my dad had it felt like a starter home or something I’d ever actually sell—even if it was a major pain in the ass most of the time.
“Okay,” I said, pulling on the little cord hanging from the ceiling to turn on the single light bulb that lit the room. I looked at the furnace. “What the fuck is your problem, now?”
Kneeling down to pull off the little door on the side, something in the way the light hit my back and tossed my shadow across the floor made me freeze.
For a second, I was standing at the hood of the Mustang, firelight at my back, while beautiful brown eyes stared up at me in the dark.
I fell back on my heels as a sharp pain shot through the base of my skull.
I’d been dealing with migraines my entire life and I was usually able to stop them before they knocked me out, but between the hangover and the memory of the way Esther had looked at me before she’d realized I was an asshole—it was game over.
I barely made it up the stairs and out the back door before puking up everything Emilia had brought me for breakfast.