Four Letter Word
Page 17
Pride went a long way. Taking someone’s independence from them chipped away at that pride, and it was a hard fucking thing to build back up.
Owen didn’t need to be carried anymore getting in and out of his own house.
That was huge, and I knew it when I saw the look on his face when they got home that afternoon.
Shock, followed by tears and embraces among the three of them.
I knew that should feel good, giving him that, giving them that, but I couldn’t smile.
He never would’ve needed that ramp if it wasn’t for me, so why should I feel good about any of it?
Guilt—it’s the best thing to have. It never lets you forget when you don’t deserve to.
I left my Jeep running after stowing the pen away, stepped out, and placed the envelope in the mailbox with the name side up.
Owen
Then I got back into my Jeep and took off, wondering how almost a thousand dollars in my hand could feel like nothing when placed in that mailbox, how it was never enough no matter how thick that envelope was.
No matter how much extra I gave Mona, or how many fucking ramps I built.
Almost a thousand dollars and it felt like absolutely nothing.
* * *
“Jesus Christ. I feel like I’m watching minor ball. This is ridiculous.”
Jamie dropped the remote onto the couch and stood up, tossing the rest of his beer back and grabbing his empty plate.
After I got back from doing the drop, we threw some steaks on the grill and ate dinner watching the Yankees slaughter the Angels 14–1.
He was right; it was ridiculous. I’m not even sure the Angels showed up tonight.
Jamie cut his eyes to me, holding up his bottle.
“Want another?”
I shook my head, picked up the remote and cut the TV off, then grabbed my plate and followed him into the kitchen, which was right off the main living room and bigger than necessary for two men who threw everything on the grill to cook.
Everything. Even when it was raining, we rolled the grill under the deck and cooked shit out there.
I couldn’t remember the last time either one of us turned the oven on. And we had two of them.
Wanting to live on the water and close to Wax, Jamie and I went in together and tossed money on the beach house two years ago, not giving a shit how big the kitchen was or how many rooms the house had but only caring that it had the sickest view. You could step off the deck and hit sand.
Life was good for Jamie. Mine had been, too, up until three months ago.
“Got Rip Pro next weekend. Winner takes home fifteen grand.”
I set my plate in the sink and turned to Jamie after he spoke, watching him pull another beer out of the fridge.
“Yeah,” I stated more than asked, because I already knew Rip Pro was happening next weekend. We’d talked about it when Jamie entered it last month.
Also already knew what the grand prize was.
He twisted off the cap and took a swig, then tipped the bottle at me.
“It’s yours, if you want it.”
“What?” I asked.
“The winnings.”
I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Don’t want it.”
His brows rose, and he stared at me for a couple seconds before repeating back to me, “You don’t want it,” as if my reaction was a shock to him and we didn’t have a conversation pretty damn close to the way this one was going every other minute.
It pissed me off.
He knew I didn’t take his money, or anyone else’s money. Cole being the other asshole good friend of mine who tried slipping me cash.
“Come on, Dash. Seriously, what the fuck is the difference whose money it is?”
I stepped closer.
“You know what the difference is,” I bit out.
He sat his beer on the counter, then turned to face me again.
“Yeah. Some shit about how this is all on you, and it’ll always be all on you and nobody else.” He shook his head. “That’s bullshit, man. How long have we known each other? I’ll tell you how long—KinderCare. Fuckin’ diapers and shit. We’ve been best friends since we were two. We’re there for each other. Always have been. You got my back, have definitely needed you to have it on more than one occasion, never had to ask, you got it, and I got yours. Now I’m offering to help and you don’t take it? Why not?”
The muscles in my shoulders tensed.
“Were you there that night?” I asked, cutting to the fucking point so I could end this conversation and do what I’d been planning on doing since I drove away from that house earlier tonight, get Sydney on the phone again.
I wanted to hear her voice. More of it. I couldn’t get this woman out of my head.
And now I knew she’d answer.
Jamie sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. His eyes fell.
I kept on chasing that point, leaning in to say, “What happened that night falls on my shoulders. Not yours. Mine, and how I go about attempting to make that shit right, ’cause it’ll never be right, nothing I do could ever make up for what I took away, all of that burden falls right here.” I jabbed a finger at my chest. “This is my fuckup. I eat this. Not you. That being said, you know you’re my brother and I love you, and I know you’re just trying to help me. I get that, but you can’t. Every dime is coming from me.”
“So, what, you’re gonna fuck for money the rest of your life? Pimp yourself out until you’re dead? You planning on getting married ever, ’cause I have a feeling your future wife might have a huge fuckin’ problem with this plan.”
“Guess I’m not getting married then,” I told him through a shrug. That was the last fucking thing I cared about.
Jamie’s eyes lowered and lost focus. He nodded as if considering this option for himself.
“Right. Maybe I’ll check out a bike,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. “Be pretty badass, you know? Getting a Harley?” He looked up at me and let his hand drop.
I felt my lip curl.
“Go for it. Your winnings can pay for that and your hospital bill when you break your neck,” I told him, reaching out to slap his shoulder, then turning and starting for the stairs.
“Hey, I’ve ridden before,” Jamie called out behind me.
“You’ve ridden a scooter.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the same concept.”
“It isn’t.”
I hit the stairs and started ascending.
“It’s close,” he mumbled in the distance, causing me to shake my head as I pictured Jamie getting on a bike, starting it up, after someone showed him how to ’cause he had no idea what the fuck he was doing and having experience riding a scooter gave him jack shit experience on a bike, making it two feet, then falling over or running into something.
I smiled, picturing that as I kept climbing.
“You going to bed?” he called out.
I wasn’t. I wasn’t even tired, but Jamie didn’t need to know what my real plans were right now. I had no intention of telling him or anyone else about Sydney. Ever.
This was mine.
When I talked to her, what I talked to her about, who she was to me, it was mine.
So I lied, reaching the top of the stairs and yelling out a “yeah,” while tugging my phone out of my pocket.
Owen didn’t need to be carried anymore getting in and out of his own house.
That was huge, and I knew it when I saw the look on his face when they got home that afternoon.
Shock, followed by tears and embraces among the three of them.
I knew that should feel good, giving him that, giving them that, but I couldn’t smile.
He never would’ve needed that ramp if it wasn’t for me, so why should I feel good about any of it?
Guilt—it’s the best thing to have. It never lets you forget when you don’t deserve to.
I left my Jeep running after stowing the pen away, stepped out, and placed the envelope in the mailbox with the name side up.
Owen
Then I got back into my Jeep and took off, wondering how almost a thousand dollars in my hand could feel like nothing when placed in that mailbox, how it was never enough no matter how thick that envelope was.
No matter how much extra I gave Mona, or how many fucking ramps I built.
Almost a thousand dollars and it felt like absolutely nothing.
* * *
“Jesus Christ. I feel like I’m watching minor ball. This is ridiculous.”
Jamie dropped the remote onto the couch and stood up, tossing the rest of his beer back and grabbing his empty plate.
After I got back from doing the drop, we threw some steaks on the grill and ate dinner watching the Yankees slaughter the Angels 14–1.
He was right; it was ridiculous. I’m not even sure the Angels showed up tonight.
Jamie cut his eyes to me, holding up his bottle.
“Want another?”
I shook my head, picked up the remote and cut the TV off, then grabbed my plate and followed him into the kitchen, which was right off the main living room and bigger than necessary for two men who threw everything on the grill to cook.
Everything. Even when it was raining, we rolled the grill under the deck and cooked shit out there.
I couldn’t remember the last time either one of us turned the oven on. And we had two of them.
Wanting to live on the water and close to Wax, Jamie and I went in together and tossed money on the beach house two years ago, not giving a shit how big the kitchen was or how many rooms the house had but only caring that it had the sickest view. You could step off the deck and hit sand.
Life was good for Jamie. Mine had been, too, up until three months ago.
“Got Rip Pro next weekend. Winner takes home fifteen grand.”
I set my plate in the sink and turned to Jamie after he spoke, watching him pull another beer out of the fridge.
“Yeah,” I stated more than asked, because I already knew Rip Pro was happening next weekend. We’d talked about it when Jamie entered it last month.
Also already knew what the grand prize was.
He twisted off the cap and took a swig, then tipped the bottle at me.
“It’s yours, if you want it.”
“What?” I asked.
“The winnings.”
I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Don’t want it.”
His brows rose, and he stared at me for a couple seconds before repeating back to me, “You don’t want it,” as if my reaction was a shock to him and we didn’t have a conversation pretty damn close to the way this one was going every other minute.
It pissed me off.
He knew I didn’t take his money, or anyone else’s money. Cole being the other asshole good friend of mine who tried slipping me cash.
“Come on, Dash. Seriously, what the fuck is the difference whose money it is?”
I stepped closer.
“You know what the difference is,” I bit out.
He sat his beer on the counter, then turned to face me again.
“Yeah. Some shit about how this is all on you, and it’ll always be all on you and nobody else.” He shook his head. “That’s bullshit, man. How long have we known each other? I’ll tell you how long—KinderCare. Fuckin’ diapers and shit. We’ve been best friends since we were two. We’re there for each other. Always have been. You got my back, have definitely needed you to have it on more than one occasion, never had to ask, you got it, and I got yours. Now I’m offering to help and you don’t take it? Why not?”
The muscles in my shoulders tensed.
“Were you there that night?” I asked, cutting to the fucking point so I could end this conversation and do what I’d been planning on doing since I drove away from that house earlier tonight, get Sydney on the phone again.
I wanted to hear her voice. More of it. I couldn’t get this woman out of my head.
And now I knew she’d answer.
Jamie sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. His eyes fell.
I kept on chasing that point, leaning in to say, “What happened that night falls on my shoulders. Not yours. Mine, and how I go about attempting to make that shit right, ’cause it’ll never be right, nothing I do could ever make up for what I took away, all of that burden falls right here.” I jabbed a finger at my chest. “This is my fuckup. I eat this. Not you. That being said, you know you’re my brother and I love you, and I know you’re just trying to help me. I get that, but you can’t. Every dime is coming from me.”
“So, what, you’re gonna fuck for money the rest of your life? Pimp yourself out until you’re dead? You planning on getting married ever, ’cause I have a feeling your future wife might have a huge fuckin’ problem with this plan.”
“Guess I’m not getting married then,” I told him through a shrug. That was the last fucking thing I cared about.
Jamie’s eyes lowered and lost focus. He nodded as if considering this option for himself.
“Right. Maybe I’ll check out a bike,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. “Be pretty badass, you know? Getting a Harley?” He looked up at me and let his hand drop.
I felt my lip curl.
“Go for it. Your winnings can pay for that and your hospital bill when you break your neck,” I told him, reaching out to slap his shoulder, then turning and starting for the stairs.
“Hey, I’ve ridden before,” Jamie called out behind me.
“You’ve ridden a scooter.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the same concept.”
“It isn’t.”
I hit the stairs and started ascending.
“It’s close,” he mumbled in the distance, causing me to shake my head as I pictured Jamie getting on a bike, starting it up, after someone showed him how to ’cause he had no idea what the fuck he was doing and having experience riding a scooter gave him jack shit experience on a bike, making it two feet, then falling over or running into something.
I smiled, picturing that as I kept climbing.
“You going to bed?” he called out.
I wasn’t. I wasn’t even tired, but Jamie didn’t need to know what my real plans were right now. I had no intention of telling him or anyone else about Sydney. Ever.
This was mine.
When I talked to her, what I talked to her about, who she was to me, it was mine.
So I lied, reaching the top of the stairs and yelling out a “yeah,” while tugging my phone out of my pocket.
