Chapter Nine
Zeppelin
Ifinish fixing the front door and sit on the porch. It’s hot today, and it’s weird when water hits my tongue as I take a drink. Alcohol has been my beverage of choice for more than a month now.
“Hey, Zep,” Bernie calls. Looking both ways, she crosses the street and stands in front of me. “Fixing your door?”
“Just finished,” I say and offer her the second bottle of water I grabbed.
Her mother would have a fit if she knew we were talking. After school, I find myself sitting outside, waiting for Bernie to get home from school. We just sit and chat.
Misty comes home at 3:45 every afternoon, so we just have to keep an eye on the clock. I make sure Bernie’s inside before her mama’s car comes rolling down the street.
“How’s your face?”
Bernie takes her seat beside me and reaches up to touch my jaw gently.
It takes me aback. I can’t remember the last time someone’s shown me such kindness. Taking punches and kicks is second nature, but a caring gesture is foreign.
How twisted has my life gotten?
Still, I smile at her. “It’s okay.”
“Why didn’t you fight back? You just let him hit you until he turned to that girl.”
“Because I deserved it,” I say with complete honesty. “When a man deserves a beating, he takes it.”
“What about girls?”
Shaking my head, I lean against the railing post. “Women never deserve a beating.”
“But you fight back when a girl might get hurt?”
I nod at her. The thing I love about talking with Bernie is how easily she simplifies just about anything. As adults, we’re too damn good at complicating everything. “Yep.”
“What did you do?”
How do I explain this to an eight-year-old? “I let his girlfriend sleep over at my house.”
“She does that a lot, doesn’t she?”
“What do you mean?”
She gives me a weird smile. Or maybe it’s a grimace. Either way, she sees a lot more than I think she does. “Because she’s been here before.”
“Yeah, she has.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Don’t think I’d be able to stop you if I wanted to.”
She giggles, and it lightens the darkness consuming me at the moment. So much goes on in my head about Johnny, the Venom, and Chanel. But Bernie can break through those walls pretty easily.
“That’s probably true.” Her expression turns serious, and she turns her whole body to face me. “Why do you let her do that?”
“Let who do what?”
“That girl wearing the sheet. Until she wasn’t. Yikes.” She makes the same face from earlier, and I realize it’s a grimace. A fucking cute one. “Why do you let her treat you bad?”
I frown. “What makes you say she treats me bad?”
The glare she shoots my way gives Misty vibes. Definitely gets this from her mama. “Mommy always tells me to never let anyone treat me bad because I’m just as good as anyone else. So why do you let sheet-girl treat you like you’re not as good as the boy who hit you?”
Well, shit. She got me there. “It’s complicated.”
“Mommy says that’s what adults say when they don’t want to say the hard things.”
“Your mama is a smart lady.”
“Yeah, so what’s the hard thing you don’t want to say?”
How the fuck do I keep this PG? “I love her, and I guess I’m willing to be with her any way she lets me.”
“But it’s not what you want, right?”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “No, it’s not.”
“Then it’s not really love. Love isn’t supposed to hurt. You should tell her to be with that other boy, and then you can find someone who doesn’t hurt you. You should be happy when you love someone, not sad.”
Fuck, she’s smart. Really smart. Before I can respond, the bush off the porch moving catches my attention. Unsure if it’s rodent, reptile, or something else, I’m ready to jump into action and keep it away from Bernie.
“What’s that?” Bernie asks.
There’s fear in her voice, and just as I’m about to tell her she’s safe, out pops my cat. “Chonk, what the hell are you doing out here?”
I hop down and pick him up. Which earns me a growl and a struggle. The damn thing hates being held. Or touched. Really, any type of affection pisses him off.
He’s heavy as he fights me, and he’s the strongest feline I’ve ever encountered. Damn thing.
“You have a kitty?”
I laugh. “Sort of. He kind of hates… everyone. Including me. Which is why I like him. But he is not an outdoor cat.”
“He must’ve snuck out when the door was broken,” Bernie says. “Can I pet him?”
Walking toward her, I pray Chonk doesn’t act out of character and bite her. That would be just my luck. Instead, he does something extremely out of character, but not in a harmful way. He forces his way out of my grasp, crawls onto her lap, and purrs.
This damn cat has never purred except for the short stint he had on pain meds post-surgery. And now he purrs when Bernie pets him? Let’s Bernie pet him? What the fuck?
“He’s nice!”
I can’t believe he’s begging for attention in her lap. This motherfucker glares at me after I feed him and bats my hand away if I attempt to give him any sort of affection, but he acts like a damned kitten nuzzling up to a new owner.
“He’s a butthead,” I say, staring in shock.
“No, he’s not!” she says.
Her eyes widen, and I’m about to ask her what’s wrong when I hear the heels on the sidewalk. Shit. We forgot to watch the time.
I turn my head to find Misty looking less than pleased to see her daughter on my front porch. And even less so when she sees the cat in her lap.
“Mommy, look! I’m holding a kitty named Chunky!” Bernie calls out.
Close enough. “Escaped when the door was damaged this morning,” I offer, hoping she doesn’t completely flip her lid.
Although, I suspect she’s hot as hell when she’s losing her shit. I wouldn’t mind trying to tame that attitude.
“Is that right?” Misty asks, walking over to pet the little traitor who purrs even louder at their attention.
“I think he’d rather live with you girls,” I mutter, thoroughly annoyed.
I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit trying to get this fucking cat to just tolerate me. Toys. Treats. Food. Cat towers. Blankets. You name it, I’ve tried it. And nothing. But all they have to do is touch him, and he’s putty in their hands. If I touch him, he growls and swipes at me.
“I wish he could live with us,” Bernie says, “but he’s your kitty.”
“Doesn’t look much like it,” I say. “I’ve tried to get him to purr, and you know how many times he’s purred with me? Without being medicated?”
When Misty looks up with an unexpected smile on her face, I nearly forget what I’m saying. “How many?”
“None.”
And when she laughs? I’ve never been affected by a woman like this before. Not even Chanel. Misty has every part of me buzzing and vibrating.
“Come on, baby, we gotta get going. We have a shopping date, remember?”
Bernie lights up. “Okay! Can I put Chunky inside?”
I nod and smile. There’s nothing quite like making Bernie happy. I think I’m finally starting to understand the appeal everyone talks about with kids. How fulfilling parenting is. The rest still sounds like shit, but this? This is okay.
When Bernie slips inside, Misty turns to me, her voice low. “This isn’t the first time Bernie’s been over here, is it?”
“Never inside the house,” I say. I’m an asshole, but I’m not a creep. Hell, I kill creeps. “She just likes to talk to me.”
“Why do you entertain it?”
Logical question. “Because I like talking to Bernie, too. She doesn’t pull any punches. If she thinks it, she says it. And she’s pretty fucking wise for—”
“Having Down Syndrome?”
“No,” I say, offended. “For being only eight.”
She settles, and I realize for the first time what Misty has probably gone through over the past eight years. How many people have made comments about Bernie’s condition to her. It’s why she tells Bernie she’s just as good as everyone else.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have attacked you like that.”
“I’m tough,” I say. “Wanna talk about it?”
Letting out a deep breath, her shoulders sag. “I’ve had to deal with too many people talking about my kid like she’s impressive because they think she’s less than. I jump on the defensive.”
I nod and give her a small smile. “You’re a good mama, Misty. Bernie tossed out a little nugget of wisdom you shared with her on me today. Looks like she gets more than her glare from her mama.”
“Do me one favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Stop saying fuck around her. She’s said it a couple of times in the past week, which is kind of what tipped me off that she’s been talking to you.”
Angry mothers have always scared me. I’ve dealt with a few, and I’ve received my fair share of wooden spoon spankings. All of which were more than deserved.
“Sorry. If I’m honest, I don’t like her being home alone. Just in case. I know it’s not for long, but it doesn’t take long for something to happen. Trust me.”
Her eyes narrow as she studies me. “Yeah? What’d you do?”
“He started his kitchen on fire when he was twelve,” Bernie says as she steps out onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind her. “I put Chunky on his cat tower because he kept running after me.”
Fucking traitor. “He’s going to be a monster all night.”
“You started your kitchen on fire?” Misty asks.
“I wanted cookies,” I say with a shrug. “Mama beat my behind for that, and I don’t blame her. As an adult, I realize how fu—freaking expensive that shit was to fix. All for cookies. Not really worth it.”
She laughs. “Let’s go, Bernie. You’ll get to see Zep tomorrow after school.”
“I can come over and talk to him?” Her pretty blue eyes widen as she stares at her mother. “I’m not in trouble?”
“No, you’re not in trouble. Just make sure you stay outside.”
Well, I’ll be damned. I think I’m growing on Misty Reynolds. I know she’s sure as hell growing on me.
In fact, she’s starred in a few of my late-night fantasies. One’s Chanel used to be featured in. And I suspect my imagination doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing.
Maybe one day I’ll get to find out.