17. A Loser Virgin
A Loser Virgin
Vedder
The kid’s apology was only half-meant, but it was something. A partial victory was still a victory.
“Don’t forget this, kid.” My finger was still in his face, but I gentled my tone.
“Your sister was willing to stand up for you. How many people do you know who would throw themselves into bodily harm just to get between you and death, hm? I’ve been in combat with people who wouldn’t have stood between me and a bullet, but you?
You’ve got one standing right in front of you, and you’re treating her like dirt. ”
The kid was mad. It was fine; he could be absolutely pissed at me if he wanted. But I knew his mistreatment of his sister was him being a little shit. I couldn’t blame him. He’d been through a lot. I can’t even imagine…
If young men weren’t shown how to deal with the emotions inside them, they’d interpret that feeling of discomfort and discontent as rage. Rage seems like a safe emotion for a young man. It certainly felt safer than helplessness or grief.
The problem with rage was that it always wanted to point at someone. Usually, on the one person who loved them the most. Sometimes that was a mother or a sister. Sometimes a lover. Sometimes even a child.
Someone who would love them even when they were at their absolute worst.
Melody was that safe person for Marcus. She would always be there, no matter how much he made her feel like shit.
That was the power he wanted. The power to hurt someone else as he had been made to hurt.
If he didn’t grow out of that shit, then he’d become an abuser.
But it wasn’t too late to turn him off that path.
It wasn’t too late to fix him, so he wouldn’t make the mistakes I did.
“It takes a good man to understand why he’s so angry, and to deal with it so they don’t hurt those around them.”
Never mind that I hadn’t learned how to be a halfway decent human being until five years ago. This wasn’t the time to get into that. Discretion was a pretty damn big part of effective communication.
The moment was too full. Too heavy. Too sour. The air had been sucked out of the room, and it was all my fault. I had to fix it.
I sighed.
“Food will be here in twenty.” I dropped into one of the seats. “I’m as hungry as a leopard at an impala convention.”
Miriam and Marcus looked at me sideways. She tried to hide a smile, though.
At least someone thought I was funny.
Marcus took a while to sit, but I didn’t force him. I also didn’t ask him to, though I did think maybe he was waiting for that command. But if he got it, then he’d defy it. He just wanted to bark at something. To start a fight. I wouldn’t give it to him, though.
“You’re one of those army guys who live on that farm, huh?” Marcus asked, that prickliness in his tone ever present.
“I am.”
“They said you guys had a wedding on that property.” He scoffed. “Brought in a fake motorcade and everything.”
“Nothing fake about it.” I tapped my finger on the table.
“Bullshit.”
I raised a brow. “Who do you not think was at that wedding?”
“Bunch of caterers said the President was there.”
“That he was.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I stood two feet from the man during the ceremony and shook his hand.” I shrugged. “I don’t need you to believe it, but it happened.”
“How the hell does a bum like you know the President?”
“I don’t.” The kid was cute, trying to get a rise out of me. But other than disrespecting his sister, there wasn’t much he could do to rattle me. “But the bride and groom were friends of mine. We were on the same Special Forces team—”
“Special Forces?” He scoffed louder this time, again trying to irritate me by choosing not to believe a thing I said. “No way are you’re Special Forces.”
“You’d be correct. I’m medically retired.” I reached down and pulled up the tail of my flannel shirt, showing off my scar. It was thick, raised, and gnarly. And hell, I hoped it didn’t disgust Melody too much. “Explosion threw me and burned a chunk of my side.”
I put my shirt back down.
“I’ve got limited motion in my abdomen, and if I’m not very, very careful, I can be laid up for days in absolute pain because of all the damaged nerves and tendons. Pair that with all my head injuries, various bullet wounds, and the number of broken bones I’ve had…” I shrugged.
Getting medically discharged was not an outcome I had sought, but it did force me to look at my life and figure out what, exactly, I had. What was important, and what wasn’t. That existential crisis may have saved my life.
“The groom’s name is Kai Griffith. His dad is Roland Griffith. You know who that is?”
“No.” The kid rolled his eyes.
“He’s the director of the CIA. Also the spitting image of my buddy, in case you ever see him on the news or something.”
Marcus eyed me with suspicion, so I decided to keep filling the silence, laying out my cards as much for Melody as for him…
“Director Griffith and President Davis Lau were roommates in college, and he is, therefore, my buddy’s godfather.
That’s why he was at the wedding.” In the kid’s eyes, my associations gave me relevance.
That was fine. Wrong. But fine. If it got him to open up to me, to trust me, to listen to me—and hopefully be nicer to Melody—it was all fine.
Especially if, in turn, she might like me better if her brother didn’t see me as public enemy number one.
“Roy says Davis Lau should go back to China.”
The smug look on his face made me want to reach over and smack him.
“He was born in America, boy. That makes him American. Democratically elected by a pretty big margin, too.” The vote hadn’t even been close. “And as a veteran who’s bled for this country, I’ve got a bigger say on who’s American than some peach fuzzed little shit like Roy.”
I had no idea who Roy was. I just assumed he was a prick.
“Roy Smith-Gray is a fucking asshole,” Miriam snorted.
“Miriam!” Melody chided, though it was obvious she agreed with her little sister. “Language.”
“It’s true though.” Miriam mumbled and shot me a look. I returned it, letting her know I agreed. I still didn’t know who Roy Smith-Gray was, but if these two ladies thought he was a dick, then he was.
“Marc’s just trying to prove he’s not as brown as the rest of us.” Miriam rolled her eyes.
“Miriam!” Melody chided once more.
“We’re half white, and you know what—”
“They’re not your fucking friends!” Miriam interrupted her brother. “You’re their dog. Their lackey. When they run out of people to step on, they’ll step on you. You’re just too stupid to know it, and just naive enough to think they actually like you.”
“Miriam!” Melody wasn’t chiding her sister now. She was just shocked.
“What would you know about friends?” For whatever reason, Marc turned to me. “She doesn’t even have any friends.”
“So? I’d rather have no friends than be surrounded by spineless, misogynistic incel pricks like Jon-Williams and Roy.” She looked at him with so much disdain that I had to work very hard to avoid laughing. “With friends like them, who needs enemies?”
“Got any beers?” I asked Melody. “I feel like the adults at this table should have a beer.”
Melody’s mouth hung open, and she looked between her siblings, like she was waffling on what to say, who to chastise, and what to do.
That told me that this outburst—this adorable family feud—was not the norm. A dam had burst, and now their home was flooding.
“I wish I did,” she said. “Or something stronger.”
“You’re just pissed because no one’s gonna ask you to prom, and no one’s ever gonna hang out with you. You’re just a loser who reads in the library for lunch instead of actually talking to people—”
“People are overrated.” Miriam gave him a contemptuous up-down. “Look at you.”
“This is why no one likes you, and you’re gonna die a loser virgin!”
“Who are you, Elan Cavanagh?” Miriam dropped the presidential hopeful’s name so casually, I knew deep in my soul that she knew exactly what she meant.
Kid was informed. Then she affected a fake, slurring New Jersey drawl.
“Ah, that guy’s a loser, he’s the biggest loser ever!
My friends all say he’s such a big loser. ”
“Jesus, Mir!” Melody looked shocked and impressed.
So was I.
“Have some respect. He’s gonna be our president, and he’ll do a lot better than Davis Lau ever did!”
I sure hoped not. Elan Cavanagh was an asshole who regularly harassed female reporters, and he had several outstanding sexual assault cases still in court.
In fact, I was pretty sure one of them had already come back with a guilty verdict.
He was every creep I’d ever met, embodied into one old-as-fuck, fake-tanned asshat with a prick-hole mouth.
“Yeah? Name a single policy.” Miriam had him cornered, and everyone at the table knew it.
She waited. I waited. Marcus fumed.
I wasn’t fool enough to get in the middle of the two younger Grays sniping at each other.
Then the doorbell rang, and my phone dinged to indicate a delivery.
“Oh, thank God. Food’s here.” Melody got up from the table with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.