Chapter 32
ELLA
Three punches.
It could’ve been way worse.
Harlan and I were only a step behind Ry, but he still landed a solid three punches on his brother before we pulled him off. Not that we actually pulled Ry off his brother. Ry is stronger than ten of me and Harlan put together. He just stopped fighting because he was worried about one of us getting hurt instead. And of course, Trash is too thin and weak from partying to be any sort of match for Ry. Fortunately, the gas station was empty except for one guy over by the slushie machine. And he looked like a regular, if you catch my drift.
Apparently, I’m more of a bitch than I previously thought because my heart actually got all warm and fuzzy when I saw Trash’s bloody nose and blackening eye.
Hours have gone by since then. The body shop closed for the night and Harlan went home. Ry is currently in the shower, and I am responding to a text message from Kristie. She’s texting to say she is going to stay at my house tonight. Again. She’s taking full advantage of my ‘vacation’ with Ry to escape from her father’s controlling hand.
My attention is quickly diverted when a gray car, with a damaged front end, parks next to Ry’s truck. A brown-headed woman in extremely tight jeans and a T-shirt that is two sizes too small walks over to the open bay of the garage.
I stand to my feet, straightening my spine. “May I help you?”
Her voice is scratchy. “Is Crutch here?”
“He’s occupied right now. I’m sorry, ma’am, but the body shop has closed for the day. I’ll be happy to take your name and phone number so Harlan or Crutch can call you when the shop re-opens in the morning.”
She takes a step closer to me, sizing me up. Immediately, I lift my chin, doing the same to her. She’s petite. Probably only an inch or two over five feet. Her hair needs a washing, her face needs a scrubbing, and her stomach needs some of that gas station fried chicken. Other than that, she’s pretty. Her age is hard to read. Thirties? Forties? Maybe, this side of the county has it right. Maybe grunge and whore-chic is the next big thing, and I’m the one who’s missing out.
“You work here? Harlan hire someone new?”
“I just help out on occasion, ma’am.” I pick up my phone, quickly opening the note section. “So, I’ll be happy to relay your request for some vehicle work or maintenance. I can take the information right here. Name?”
“I don’t need my car worked on. I need to speak with my son.”
I look into her eyes. Her green eyes. Eyes that should be vibrant and nearly transparent. But they look dead. Void of life. My heart drops to the bottom of my shoes. “Your son?”
She doesn’t have to answer. Ry protectively snags his hand around my waist, pushing my body behind his. “Hello, Mom.”
“There’s my boy.” She reaches out, standing on her tiptoes, trying to wrap him in an awkward hug. He flicks his head to the side, trying to avoid her kiss. She misses his cheek and pecks him on the neck instead.
“What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to come check on you.”
I peep around Ry’s massive shoulders. “If this is about the fight, I’m sorry, ma’am. It was completely my fault.”
“Luella,” Ry warns.
Uh-oh. I don’t think I can even recall a time when Ry has used my true, given name. And that worries me. I quickly decide that obeying his intended warning is the smartest thing to do. I clamp my mouth shut. It’s really hard, but I do it anyway.
Besides, I really need to stop calling her ma’am. She’s a terrible mother. And a terrible daughter. She shouldn’t have ‘ma’am’ status in my book.
“What fight? Did you get into a fight?”
“It’s nothing. Just a disagreement with your other son,” he answers.
She cackles, reaching around to her back pocket to grab a cigarette. “That’s good. Brothers are supposed to tussle every now and then.”
Ry plucks the cigarette from her mouth before she can light it, breaking it in half. “I tell you every single time you come here that there’s no smoking in the garage.” His body is so damn tense, it looks like his muscles might actually break.
She runs her tongue across her teeth, biting back what she really wants to say. My phone pings with another text message from Kristie, drawing her unwanted gaze to me. She looks at the positions of our bodies, immediately realizing that we are more than mere coworkers. “Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your little friend.”
I’m not little.
“Cindy Crutchfield, this is Luella Hill.”
Cindy spreads her arms through the air. “And Luella is your…?” She pauses, wanting Ry to fill in the blanks.
“Luella is my business.” His tone leaves nothing up for discussion.
She grunts. Tiring of this standoff, she begins meandering through the garage. Sidestepping us, she heads for the kitchen. “I’m just gonna grab a quick drink.”
Leaning his head back, he sighs in frustration. In anger. I slide my hand up his spine. He’s never felt so rigid before. We take a few steps to follow her when we are both caught off guard by the sound of a car door slamming shut. Spinning around, we see a tall, lanky man walking across the parking lot. He must’ve been on the passenger’s side of the car, hidden by the shadows of the near dark sky.
Ry curses under his breath.
He’s about two inches shorter than Ry. Ry’s height must come from his father’s side of the family. His hair is dark brown with gray around the edges. Wrinkles frame his face—wrinkles from drinking too hard, partying too hard, living too hard. Thin arms and thin legs. Beer belly.
Just like his wife, and just like his other son, you can catch glimpses of what might have been. Glimpses of the handsome, distinguished man underneath it all. Underneath the pile of shit.
“Crutch, your Momma come in here?”
“You know she did, so why ask the question?”
He points his finger at Ry. “Don’t be such a smartass.”
“Then don’t ask such dumbass questions.”
His father laughs. Ry doesn’t.
His dad sniffles, twitching his nose like he has an itch. He seems a little jumpy.
His mom’s voice calls to us from the other room. “Larry, I’m back here getting a drink.”
Tucking my hand in Ry’s back pocket, I follow him and his father through the garage. Cindy’s in the kitchen alright. She’s already opened half the food I bought today and is guzzling a soda. Larry immediately grabs one of Ry’s beers from the fridge and dips his hand into the chip bag, dropping crumbs everywhere.
Ry sucks in a breath. He hates it. He likes things to be clean. It makes him feel clean. He draws their attention, loudly clearing his throat. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
His dad wipes his hands on his T-shirt. “Well, you know we hate to do this, but payday isn’t until Friday, and I was wondering if we could borrow a little bit of money. I have to fix the lawnmower.”
“Try again. I already fixed that lawnmower for you. Don’t you remember? Fixed it and changed the oil and the blades so it would be all ready for you this spring.”
Larry’s mouth drops open. Nope. He doesn’t remember.
Cindy snickers, laughing at Larry’s failed attempt to get money. Not liking that, Larry spins around and slaps her arm. Hard. Really hard. The soda flies from her hand and spills all over the tile floor. I’m shocked. But it doesn’t faze Cindy in the least little bit. She just opens a fresh pack of peanut butter crackers.
Ry and I spent hours scrubbing that grout for Harlan just the other weekend. He mentioned it needed to be done, and Ry wanted to surprise him. I race to the countertop, grab the paper towels, and bend to clean up the mess.
And for the first time, Larry really notices me. “Well, look at that. You know, Trash did mention you had a new bed bunny at your side. What a pretty little thing she is.”
I’m yanked back to my feet before I can process what’s happening. Wrapping his arms around me, Ry pulls me into his grip so my toes aren’t touching the floor anymore. I guess he’s concerned I won’t walk fast enough. Striding down the short hallway, he deposits me at the bedroom door. Cradling my face in both of his hands, his voice is so serious, it injects fear straight into my veins. A direct IV shot. “Shut this door. Lock it with the chain, not the doorknob. Doorknob is broken. Don’t open it for anyone but me. Do not come back out here. Do you understand?”
I can’t think. I need to touch my scar.
“Lulu, do you understand?”
I nod. He shuts the door, and I immediately search the side frame for the chain and lock it. My heart rattles through my chest like a derailing freight train.
On the other side, Ry yells at his father. “If you ever look at her that way again, I’ll cut your fucking eyes out. Do you understand?”
Cindy’s scratchy voice rises to a shrill. “Don’t you dare speak to your father like that.”
“I’ll speak to him however I damn well please. This is my place of business. Harlan told you not to come back here—more than once.”
Larry coughs and laughs. How can he find this funny? “Why are you so bent out of shape about a girl? She’s hot. You can’t blame a man for looking. I’m fifty, I’m not dead.”
Ry lowers his voice. “Just tell me what you are doing here. The lawnmower is obviously fine. What do you need money for this time? To pay a loan shark? You borrow from the wrong people again, Dad? To buy drugs? What’s your venom of choice this week, Mom? You sticking with Trash’s Oxy or you back on a crack kick with that guy down south?”
There’s a loud slap. Deafening. Oh my god, she just slapped her son. My fingers fumble with the chain, trying to unlock it.
But I stop. Ry wants me to stay here.
Screw it.
Silently, I slip out of the small bedroom. Ry is perched like a cobra ready to strike. He’s so focused in his anger he doesn’t see me. Not until I slide my hand into his, gripping it tightly. His knuckle has a cut on it from his earlier fight. His head turns toward mine. His cheek is marked with an ugly pink welp. His beautiful cheek. His beautiful face.
I stiffen my spine and square my shoulders. “Next to the dollar store, they are building a new car wash.”
Larry scoffs. Tossing his empty beer bottle across the room, it barrels into the trash can like a basketball and shatters. “Yeah, so.”
“The construction crew left a bunch of old aluminum poles by the side of the road at the end of work today. Sign says they’re free. You can sell the aluminum at the recycling plant in town if you need money. Because we won’t be giving you any. And we won’t be so hospitable the next time you come asking. I think it’s time that you both leave.”
Pleased with the immediate promise of money, and not concerned at all with my threat, Larry leaves. I suppose he’s rushing out to make sure the poles are still by the side of the road.
Cindy doesn’t leave quite so quietly. She stops right in front us and narrows her eyes. She points a finger in Ry’s face. “Just when did you ,” she then moves her finger between the two of us, “become a we ?”
I toss my chin in the air. “The second we met. Now leave.”