CHAPTER FIVE #2
“Nothing,” I grumbled, shoving away the old bad memories before they had the opportunity to take hold once again. “Just wondering.”
Leonard gave me another quick smile. “Drive safe, Bram,” he said.
I lifted my hand, cigarette pinched between two fingers, and gave him a little wave as I said, “Always do.”
Then, as he turned to go back inside, the first drop of rain landed on my shoulder.
A gentle prelude before the sky opened up to unleash its wrath over our corner of Massachusetts.
***
The drive into Beverly was easy. Midday traffic was light, and though the streets were slick and spotted with deceptively deep puddles, the ride was mostly uneventful, save for Shawn's yammering about Shelby—the girl he'd been seeing for the last few months.
Before I had left, he had stepped outside to grab the mail, seen me putting on my jacket, and asked if I minded if he came along. I hadn't at the time, but now, listening to him talk incessantly about this woman I had yet to meet, I found I did mind.
Very much, in fact.
The truck sat idle at a red light during a lull in the one-sided conversation, and as I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel to the tune of “Only” by Nine Inch Nails playing on the radio, Shawn kept his gaze pointed toward the window.
I was grateful for his silence. I was grateful to do nothing but listen to the raindrops on the roof and Trent Reznor's voice blaring through the speakers.
But the moment was fleeting, as Shawn turned toward me with a wistful sigh, and I clenched my jaw, bracing myself for whatever stupid shit he was undoubtedly about to say.
"I think she might be it for me, man. I'm serious."
And there it was, ladies and gentlemen.
I glared at him sidelong, hoping he'd sense my exhausted disinterest without me saying as much.
He didn't.
"She's great, Bram."
He's going to make me say something.
I pressed my eyes shut and gave myself a moment to empty my lungs before saying, "I'm sure she's a nice girl."
"You'd love her," he insisted.
I doubted it. I didn't love many people. I could count on less than one hand the amount of people I'd ever loved in my life, and Shelby was unlikely to make the cut.
Still, I grumbled, "I'll meet her eventually."
"You should come out with us one of these days. She has this friend, and I have a feeling you’d—"
“Okay. I have to stop you right there, Shawn," I said as I maneuvered the truck effortlessly into a parking spot and turned to pin my brother and best friend with a stern glare. "The answer is no. You know the answer is no. So, get all of that shit out of your head right now."
His hopeful expression drooped. "Oh, come on, dude. When was the last time you went out with—"
"Never," I cut him off again, holding up a hand. "We're going to keep it that way, all right?"
With a tip of his head and a narrow of his eyes, he asked, "Don't you ever get sick of being alone though? Aren't you lonely?"
I pretended to consider the question for a moment with a contemplative purse of my lips as I smoothed my palm over the wheel, gazing out the windshield toward the print shop before shaking my head and meeting Shawn's unamused eye.
"Nope." That was a lie.
Sometimes, I was very lonely. Unbearably. But relationships required sex. Sex required trust. Trust required talking and opening up to someone. I was incapable of all those things, and I didn’t see a point in trying.
"Okay, but even Ike gets out," he replied. "Even that psychopath needs affection sometimes."
I snorted at that, smirking as I shook my head. "Ah, yes. The prime example of gentility."
"All right," Shawn muttered with a sigh of resignation, unbuckling his seat belt. "Forget I—"
"A true Casanova, that one," I went on, climbing out of the truck and closing the door behind me.
"You made your point," he threw over his shoulder, leading the way across the parking lot.
"Hey, what was it he said to the last girl he got some affection from?" I asked, catching up to him in long strides. "Hold on. It'll come to me …"
Shawn sighed, giving his head a slight shake.
"Oh, wait, I remember," I said, grabbing the door handle and pulling it open. "After she had the nerve to ask for his number, he said—and I quote—"
"For fuck's sake, Bram," he muttered beneath his breath.
" ‘If you ever try to find me again, I'll break into your house and drown your fucking cat.’ "
The shop was nearly empty, as usual. But the kid behind the counter and the one patron waiting for his order both turned their attention toward us, expressions of alarm on both their faces.
Try living with him, I thought with a gruff chuckle as I continued to smirk at Shawn.
"Poets could learn a thing or two from that level of romanticism," I added, feeling rather smug.
"Okay," he murmured with a sigh as we took our place in the short line. "So, he's not the best example."
"Oh, you think?"
"But you're not like him—"
"No," I interrupted. "Maybe I'm worse."
Shawn's brow crumpled at that as he looked up at me. He wasn't a short guy by any means—maybe six-one, six-two—but I was taller. Always had been.
"What? How the hell could you—"
"We're all fucked up, right? The three of us."
He dropped his gaze, curling inwardly around the damaged fragments of his soul, then nodded.
"You crave that shit—being in a relationship, being with someone," I continued. "You need to feel like you're worth something more than being a quick—"
"Okay, Bram," he grumbled, his feelings clearly wounded. "You don't need to dissect every fucking piece of my psyche. I get it."
Relenting, I moved on. "And Isaac … that little shit needs control. He needs to treat someone like an object. He's sadistic. Honestly, he should be locked up somewhere and—"
The other customer in the place was done, and as he turned to leave the shop, he shot us a wary glance before hurrying toward the door.
The kid behind the counter seemed to hesitate before saying, "You guys are here to pick up, right?"
I nodded, stepping forward and laying my hands against the counter. "Yeah, Leonard said he already paid."
The kid nodded, rapping his knuckles against the beige Formica. "Yep. Just give me a second."
He walked away to rifle through a stack of boxes against the back wall, and when I knew his attention was elsewhere, I looked back at Shawn.
"And I feel like I need nothing," I said, holding my voice low. “I feel … nothing.”
"You have to feel something," he argued incredulously. "In fact, I know you do. You care about me, right? And you care about Ike and Leonard—"
"And yet, if I walked away from all of you, I don't think I'd feel a fucking thing. No, you know what? I’d be relieved," I admitted, and Shawn's lips clamped shut as he turned away from my harsh glare. "I’m not saying I’d leave," I added.
"I don't want to. But if I did, it wouldn't tear me apart. I’d move on and be okay. "
"That's …" Shawn shook his head, blowing out a long breath, as if he hadn't expected me to say that at all. As if he hadn't known me for the last twenty years. "That's really fucking sad, Abraham."
I shrugged and crossed my arms over my chest, pinning my gaze on a wall clock, watching as the hands ticked away the seconds until the kid returned with the package Leonard had sent us for.
"You wanna check them out? Make sure everything looks good?"
I did, so I lifted the lid on the box and quickly roamed my eyes over the funeral programs and laminated prayer cards. Everything looked good, and I looked up to give him an affirming nod.
He smiled gratefully. "Have a good day, guys."
"Thanks a lot," Shawn said before we both turned in unison, heading toward the door and out into the rain.
Once we were back in the truck, I turned the music on and cranked it up before driving back onto the slick street, shiny beneath a single ray of sunshine, which impaled the cover of blackened clouds.
Shawn was silent now, and I doubted it had anything to do with swooning or thoughts of the perfect relationship he had with Shelby.
No, that sentimental bastard was likely wondering what he could do to fix me, to find those missing screws in my brain and put them back into place.
But that wasn't on him. It wasn't his job to make me better, just as I knew it was no longer my job to take care of him or Isaac.
Yet I still do, I thought, filling my lungs and sending the air out into the musty cab. And I always will.
Fuck, I need a cigarette.
I rolled up to a red light and cast my gaze out the window to my side when my eyes caught a glimpse of glimmering black hair. My hands gripped the wheel, my breath hitched, and I stared at the owner of the waterfall of onyx, spilling over her shoulders to cascade down her slender back.
Let me see your face. I need to see your face. I need to see your eyes, please.
"Bram."
I hardly heard Shawn's voice above the frantic mutterings in my head as I continued to pray for this woman to simply turn around.
Just turn the fuck around.
"Abraham," he said, louder this time, shoving against my shoulder.
"Shut the hell up," I answered, panicked and tense, just as a car behind us honked its horn.
"Drive!" Shawn shouted.
"For fuck's sake!"
I stepped on the gas, barely paying attention to the road as I swerved and made a hasty U-turn, maneuvering the vehicle into a sloppy parallel park just feet away from where the woman with the black hair remained standing.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
There was no time to answer Shawn though as I unbuckled and threw the truck door open, jumping out of the cab. A sedan nearly plowed into me, yet I didn’t react or care, even as their horn blared, along with a slew of expletives thrown out an open car window.
I neared the woman in one step, then two, and although reason told me it was unlikely to be her—the girl I could never forget—I still needed to see her face.
I needed to know. Because if I didn't find out for certain, it'd keep me awake all night, just as it had countless times before.
She just needed to notice me, she needed to look, and then I could—