15. Get Some of That
get some of that
Mirren
“I suppose it doesn’t matter that I said no?
That I specifically said I wasn’t available or that my home wasn’t?
I guess you, and Charlie, too, are showing me exactly how much respect you have for me by violating my wishes.
No, not wishes. I spelled out plainly what I would accept and what I refused to allow.
And none of that was good enough. Get out, Mikey.
Now. And you can tell Charlie you overstepped. ”
My brother’s head snaps back, and his eyes go wide.
I go on, nodding to the phone at his chest. “And if Charlie missed a word of that, you can relay the message.”
I spin on a heel and leave the room, moving down the far hallway to the back, exiting the house and taking the stairs to my apartment two at a time. Fuck this.
My brothers would never do this to each other. Untrue. They would absolutely invade each other’s spaces and overstep boundaries. But they would have the luxury of punching each other, calling it good, and walking off a black eye or a bruised jaw for a couple of days as a reminder.
I don’t have that. They’d never defend themselves. And they’d sure as fuck never hit back. That’s not fair. Though, truth be told, I don’t want to hit them, and I never want to be on the receiving ends of one of their blows.
No matter, they have to learn to show some respect. My big, nosy family is wonderful… most of the time. The fact that Mikey would come to check says so much. That’s not the problem. It’s the pointed lack of respect when it comes to my private life.
The door latch snicks behind me, and the voice hitting my ears isn’t who I expect. “Scooter?”
Relief and annoyance war within me. I turn to face my burly brother. “What?” It’s not anger. It’s exhaustion and defeat.
“You have to know—”
I raise my eyebrows in warning.
“You get this is hard on me, hard on us, don’t you?”
“Do not blame your bad behavior on me, Mikey. Your shit isn’t my responsibility.”
“That right there”—he extends a hand—“it’s hard seeing the woman you are while somewhere in my head, you’re also thirteen and crying over a boy in school whose ass I’ll have to kick.”
“Again, you’re making it my problem.”
“Mirri… You’ll always be my baby sister. You’ll always be mine to protect. I felt that way when you were overseas. I’m glad I didn’t know, frankly. I felt so impotent unable to help you. That man”—his head tilts to the house—“what am I supposed to do with finding you like that?”
“What would you do with Jamie or Johnny?”
“You’re not Jamie or Johnny. You can be pissed about it, but you’ll never be them. You’re you.” His eyes slice to slits. “With a hickey.”
I lift my hand to cover my pulse point. “You know I’m not a virgin, right?”
Mikey covers his ears, singing, “La la la la la la.”
That forces a smile to my face. I mime removing the earmuffs. “It’s not about you interrupting. It’s about you not accepting when I said I didn’t want company.”
“I got it.” He shakes his head. “Or I’m getting it. But you know how we are.”
“I do. Which is why I rarely make the kind of stink I did. If I care enough to tell you, you have to care enough to listen.”
“Come here.” He opens his arms wide, and I fold into them. “Love you, Scooter.” Pulling me tight, he dips his body enough that my face ends up in his armpit. “Get some of that,” he says from above me. “That’s for me walking in on you with no pants on.”
I grab his ribs. Since he’s notoriously ticklish, this works to extricate me from my predicament, but it creates a new one.
“Hey! What’s going on?” Strider is through the door and almost to my side when a crack pierces the air.
“Shit.” His hand covers his jaw just as Mikey rubs his elbow. “Fuck.”
I shake my head, sliding around my brother to the man who came to what? Butt in? Or save me?
“Are you okay?” I cup Strider’s jaw over his own hand. “Let me get you some ice.”
His eyes laser in on my brother. “First tell me you’re okay. It looked like he was manhandling you, and it sounded like…” He shakes his head. “Well?”
Mikey lifts his arms and drops them at his side. “You ever need a job, my team could use you. You took a hit and kept standing.”
Strider
I shake my head, no clue what he’s on about, and hold Mirren’s eyes. “Need to know, baby. Are you okay?”
Her warm hand cups mine again, and her eyes go soft. “I’m fine.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Thanks for checking on me.”
My eyes drift over her head to Mikey. “Team Jones is doing just fine or so it appears.”
“I was thinking the Red Wolves. You’re small, but I bet you’re quick.”
I understood nothing about that sentence except the insult. And I can’t be two inches shorter than him at my six-one. My face must say the same.
“He’s a flanker.” At seeing my confusion, Mirren continues, “Professional rugby player. He’s impressed by people taking a lick and still standing. Now let’s get you some ice.”
I size up her brother. That explains a lot. I let her tug me around the tree of a man standing in the way and to the freezer where she extracts a blue gel ice pack and wraps it in a towel, pressing it gently to my jaw.
Mikey, not to be outdone, lifts his elbow like a wing. “What about me?”
“I’ll kiss it and make it better. How’s that?”
“Not feeling the love, Scoot. This could be life-threatening, and you’re over there cooing at some guy.”
Mirren rolls her eyes and whirls on him. “One, I don’t coo. And, two, is your life in danger because of your booboo?”
Headlights wash the house and fill the driveway. Great… just when I’d least like an audience. No, wait—that happened earlier tonight, and it was way worse timing. But this is an easy second.
Mirren hurries to the window and sags.
“Charlie?” I ask, assuming the next part of our wrecked evening.
“No. It’s worse.” She turns to face us. “It’s Mom.”
I move to her brother’s side as Mirren flies down the outside stairs. “Do I want to know how this is worse?”
Mikey shrugs. “Feels like an overreaction to me. Mom’s sarcastic and funny, a practical joker, but in a mommish kind of way. And she’s over-the-top for holidays, especially Halloween, but nothing should warrant this kind of reaction.”
We’re sandwiched halfway between Halloween and Thanksgiving, so it’s not that. Out of curiosity, I move to the window with her flanker brother right beside me.
Mrs. Jones tries to exit her small roadster, but her daughter blocks her way, arms waving wildly.
“Cool car,” I offer, adjusting the ice pack.
“Cool looking. I swear it only worked like seven days of my childhood, but she found a great mechanic, and now it’s her everyday driver.”
“What is it?”
“A 1962 Sunbeam Alpine, Series II. Don’t forget the Series II part. She won’t let you. It was a car from a James Bond film. She had it imported in the late nineties. Dad has the patience of a saint. At least I’ve heard him tell her that.”
“Can’t say I’d argue with a James Bond-mobile.”
“Same.” He looks my way. “But an Aston Martin, right? Something high tech?”
“And a road with no cops so I could open it up.”
He offers me another fist to bump. “Sorry about that.” He nods to my chin. “If I meant to hit you, it would’ve been earlier.”
I bark a laugh. “I can’t disrespect that. If it were my sister…”
“I’m in the market, you know. Is she cute?”
“No. What I mean is… My oldest little sister is married. The baby is engaged, getting married in May.” I size him up. “Even with your bulk, I wouldn’t put you up against her fiancé.”
“Pity. I like a challenge.”
Why does that not surprise me? I extend my hand again, knowing the last time he left me hanging. “Good to meet you, Mikey Jones.”
“Right back atcha, Strider Anderson.” He grips my hand. “Though the circumstances sucked.”
“You are not wrong.”
A car door slamming takes our attention back to the driveway where Mirren stands, hands on hips, facing the car reversing from her driveway.
“Hmm. That’s weird.”
“Everything about tonight has been weird,” I reply and watch Mirren return to her apartment.
She finds us standing at the window overlooking the scene when she opens the door. “Crisis averted,” she offers on a sigh.
Now why would her mother being here constitute a crisis?