24
Xavier
“This is the calm before the storm,”Em sighs as she brushes her hair. She gazes out the window at the sun rising over the horizon, casting an orange-silver glow over the rooftops of neighboring houses. After ordering a ton of takeout food to last the next three meals, grabbing a week’s worth of groceries, and picking up clothes, study materials, and laptops, we drove back home and stuffed our faces.
Well…we boys stuffed our faces. On the other hand, Em could only eat a few forkfuls of fried rice and a wonton. She said she felt seedy from the ‘crazy motorbike ride.’
I had the first shift as a watchman but fell asleep about 30 minutes in, only to be woken by Aaron, who kicked me lightly in the shin to take over for his shift. It was after midnight and cold, so crawling into bed next to a nice, warm little body was a comfort to my soul.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t hug her as tightly as I wanted, and I couldn’t fuck her like I wanted, so I just nestled in close, laid a hand on her sleeping body, listening to her breath until I fell back to sleep.
“You think?” I grunt, watching her hair catch the light as it curls around her shoulders. She seems unhappy and flat, and I put that down to fear and worry about her sister and the Viches. But I’ll do anything to make her smile again like she used to, even when she believes no one is watching.
“Yeah, it feels that way. Impending doom,” her voice trails off, and I roll out of bed, ignoring the stab of pain in my side radiating down my spine. “Dangerously close.”
I sweep her hair away from the nape of her neck and bury my face in the curve, inhaling the scent of shampoo and warm skin. Her body freezes from my touch and pulls away as her hand goes to her stomach and rubs. “My period is due,” she says, avoiding my eye, and immediately I receive the message loud and clear.
“I wasn’t initiating sex, Em. I want to hold my woman,” I argue as she stalks to the door and departs the room, leaving behind her sweet perfume.
I give her a two-minute head start before I follow behind down the stairs to the kitchen, where I find the boys toasting waffles and smothering them with maple syrup.
“So much for your high protein diet, bro,” I tease Aaron, who usually is strict with his calorie and carbs vs protein intake.
“I’ll compensate by eating nothing but chicken wings for the rest of the day,” he justifies, even though I’m unconvinced he can go without carbs for that long. Fuck, I couldn’t.
Aaron wipes maple syrup off his hands using a wet dishcloth as his mood turns serious. “So, this is what we’re doing this morning, bro,” he begins as I grab a plate and load a couple of waffles. “I’m gonna take Emaline to the hospital to see her sister, so we get to the bottom of what’s going on here, then we’ll know what action to take.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” I ask as Emaline walks precariously in and stalls when all eyes land on her.
“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” she asks, hovering by the door, undecided if she wants to enter.
“No,” Austin answers, pointing to the waffles. Help yourself. Do you want a coffee, orange juice, toast…” He opens a cupboard to reveal a massive box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch—his favorite cereal that he usually hates sharing. “Cereal? We’ve got eggs and bacon, too.”
Aaron and I exchange glances at how cordial Austin is toward Em, even this early in the morning.
“Um, no thanks,” she answers softly. “I’ll just have coffee.”
“Are you still unwell?” Aaron asks, frowning, then lightly whacks Austin’s chest with the back of his hand. “His riding must’ve been particularly bad.”
“Nah,” I make a face, “she’s on her monthly.”
My brothers shirk and make faces, not wanting to go there, while Em looks humiliated and upset, and I realize I said the wrong thing—again.
“No, I haven’t,” she stresses, avoiding my eye while pushing her glasses against the bridge of her nose.
“Good,” Aaron croons, and I roll my eyes. Women are confusing. “Anyway, I’m taking you to the hospital to see your sister while these chumps will meet a guy about some supplies,” he explains to her.
“What sort of supplies?” she asks, watching Austin pour her a coffee. “I like a drop of milk.”
“Sure,” Austin answers, playing the attentive boyfriend, which is entertaining and annoying. The sullen, indifferent mask he usually wears around her starts to crack.
“Okay, thank you,” she says politely, taking the coffee mug from Austin. “Will you take me to class afterward? I’m supposed to meet Rosie for eighteenth-century literature class, where we’ll study Daniel Defoe and Jonathon Swift.” Her sentence ends with a bashful chortle that sets my heart on fire. She’s so fucking cute, but, honestly, we have no idea what she’s talking about, including me, who is supposed to be studying this shit.
“Em, you really should be eating something if you’re going to spend the day at uni,” I argue gently, eager for my girl to look after herself.
“I can make you a sandwich to take to uni if you want?” Austin adds, annoying me again.
I retaliate, “Bro, I’m more than capable of making Emaline a sandwich, and I”ll even wrap it up in special clingwrap to stop the bread from drying out.”
“I wasn’t fucking talking to you,” Austin blasts me while Em quietly drinks her coffee.
“Too fucking bad,” I blurt, barging my way past him to make a sandwich for my girl, even though she’s feeling poorly. In my haste to impress Em, I forget about my wound, shoving Austin aside to reach for the cupboard with the loaf of bread.
“Guys,” Aaron chuckles, “stop acting the fool.”
Austin shoves me back as I open the cupboard and pretend that jab of pain forces me to lurch and hug my side in immense pain. Honestly, the wound does hurt, but not as much as I’m inventing to win the argument. Fuck, buy me a one-way ticket to Hollywood. This is lost talent here.
“Xavier,” Emaline cries out and comes to my aid. My devious plan is working twofold.
“Oh fuck, sorry, bro,” Austin pats my arm in guilt and allows some room for Emaline to get close to this ailing man in need of some attention from a good woman.
“He’s faking it,” Aaron blurts, tearing a piece of waffle and throwing it at my head.
I can’t keep up the pretense, so maybe a career in acting is not a good idea after all. Keeping a straight face is impossible, and I crack up laughing, which prompts a thump on my arm from Austin calling me a “fucking cunt” and Emaline making that cute growling at the back of her throat. Oh yeah, now I know who it reminds me of…Marge Simpson - the Marge Simpson disapproving rumble.
“That’s not funny,” Emaline hisses, pointing her little finger at me. A dark scowl lies behind her glasses as I grace her with my unique panty-dropping smile. Her response is to turn away so I can’t see her face light up.
“Emaline, since my brother is in immense pain, I’ll make you a sandwich to take to uni,” Austin offers, putting on a charming voice that I’ve heard him use only twice in the last ten years.
“Thank you,” Emaline answers graciously as Austin shoots me a devious look to say that his master plan is working. “And it’ll be better than the shitstorm this motherfucker will make you,” pointing to me.
“Fine,” I resign, pulling up a stool at the kitchen counter and grabbing the maple syrup to drown my waffles. “Can you make me a sandwich while you’re at it?”
“No, fuck off,” Austin hits swiftly, just as his phone beeps.
While he’s checking the message, I reach out to Emaline and brush my hand down her arm to test her reaction, and she smiles warmly. I’m glad she doesn’t hate me for humiliating her earlier. I forget that she’s not crass and classless like many of the chicks we used to hang with that wear Proud Slut or Bang This Ass t-shirts.
“The boys are ready,” Austin announces, and I suspect he’s talking about the guys who will supply the guns. Fuck, I don’t have a good feeling about this for many reasons, but I’m just going along with it because we have no other option.
“Early,” Aaron mumbles surprised. “They don’t know where we live, do they?”
“Nah,” he answers, buttering two slices of bread for Emaline. “We’re meeting at Memorial Park.”
“Huh,” Aaron glances at Emaline, who bows her head shyly, “Brings back memories.”
He doesn’t need to say it aloud, but obviously, he and Em have done the deed down there. I didn’t take Em for a nature, damp, dirty-ass girl, but you learn new things every day, and I bet she’s learning new things every day from the Leroux brothers, too.
“What supplies?” Emaline asks for the second time. We avoided answering it the first time by making a great diversion, but I’ll leave the explanation down to my brothers this time.
“What do you want in your sandwich?” Austin cuts in, and I roll my eyes at trying to pull her attention away from the topic.
“Um, surprise me. I like most things,” she admits.
“What about tomato, turkey, and mayo?” he suggests, grabbing a bag of tomatoes in a fruit bowl.
“Sure,” she replies. “That sounds tasty.” He glances up to meet her gaze, and it’s written on his face, showing how much he likes her. It’s weird how words like ‘that sounds tasty’ can get a man going. It doesn’t take much to spur on the dirty minds of dirty men in the presence of a good girl.
It’s been made clear that she has no idea the effect she has on us giddy fools. Even Aaron is staring at her, mouth slightly parted, watching every move she makes like a creepy stalker. For an unsuspecting wallflower, she sure is fascinating and pleasant on the eye.
After Aaron left to take Emaline to the hospital, we piled into my car and headed to Memorial Park to meet the dealers. It’s been years since I’ve stepped foot in Memorial Park. Once, it used to be our stomping ground, scaling up trees and hunting for small rodents. Not that we caught any, but it was fun trying.
I pull up in the empty car park in the shadows of massive leafy trees as Austin checks his phone for directions. It’s still early, only after 9 am, and clouds have moved in from the coast to suffocate the sun”s light. A chill descends on me, not just because it’s cold.
“Right,” Austin exclaims, reading his phone. “They’re a couple of minutes away. It’ll be a quick exchange. I give them the cash, and they’ll quickly stash the weapons into the back.”
“Aren’t you allowed to test the guns first to ensure they work?” I question. “What if they sell you duds?”
“Yeah, he’s not going to do that?” Austin says confidently.
I argue, “How do you know? Bro, I won’t lie, but I don’t feel good about this.”
“That’s because this is unfamiliar territory for you,” he replies with a good argument, but it still doesn’t make me feel better.
“True, but we’re paying out a shitload of cash here. We need to know that the hardware works,” I reason, just as a blue sedan pulls up and Austin opens his door.
“This is him,” he tells me as he climbs out of my car. “I need to ask him questions about the Viches and get some facts straight.”
“What facts?” I ask, but he slams the door on my face.
Discreetly, I watch the trade unfold in my rearview mirror. The man gets out of his car, and he’s not quite what I had in mind for an illegal arms dealer. He’s about fifty, overweight, with silver hair and a beard, and wearing a blue buttoned shirt and dress pants as if he’s on the way to work in an office.
There’s a conversation between them behind the dealer”s open trunk, and I can’t quite pick up on what they’re saying. Austin bangs on my truck. I flip the lid, and the sound of something being loaded in the back follows. They talk some more in a friendly, upbeat tone before Austin returns to the passenger door and climbs in.
The dealer departs first, then follows, heading in a different direction.
“All good?” I ask him since he’s a little too quiet for my liking.
“Yeah, and nah,” he replies, and I cringe. Yes, the deal is good. And no, I asked him about the Viches, and he recommended that we run a mile.”
“Great,” I grunt sarcastically as I turn a bend to head back to the Cliffton house.