More Than Enough
Page 93
Jake shakes his head. “That’s so wrong, dude.”
I get up from my seat and walk over to the table where my bag holding my supplies is.
“How are things with Riley?” Jake asks.
I shrug. “It’s going well. A little too well.” I grab what I need and pocket it before turning around. “I fucked up pretty bad,” I say, leaning back on the table. “I made a lot of mistakes… just waiting for it to catch up to me.”
Cam shrugs. “We all make mistakes, dude. We all hurt the people we love. It makes us human.”
I sit back down in my chair. “Not as bad as I have.”
“Hello,” Cam points to Logan, “I ran away for the year under the pretense of saving lives.”
“Fuck off,” Logan says, but he’s laughing.
“And me?” Cam points to himself. “Do I need to remind you of Slut-of-a-whore-gate? I fucking drew a picture of another girl, bro. I get stabby just thinking about it… and him.” He points to Jake now, then scowls. “Fuck you, Mr. Perfect.”
“Shut up,” Jake snaps, then pauses a moment. “I got drunk and made out with a girl at a party on an away game once.”
We stare at him. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan says. We don’t believe him. Not for a second.
“I just want to fit in,” Jake whines.
“You’d cry if you so much as looked at another girl. Micky would be the one talking you off the ledge,” Cam tells him, then looks over at me. “Truth? You messed up, Dylan. You had every right to. We deal with pain differently.”
“Maybe.” I shrug.
Cam yawns, loud and long and so damn perfect. “I’m fucking fading.”
“Pussy,” Jake says.
“Fuck you! Unlike the fucking rest of you fucking assholes, I fucking have a fucking job. I’m not just fucking cruising through the summer for the fuck of it. I’ve fucking been up since fucking five.”
“Holy shit.” Jake laughs. “Swear much?”
“Sorry. I’m always at work all professional and shit…” He loosens his tie. “…or Lucy’s little brother is always at the cabin and I have to tone down the cursing and it just feels good to fucking swear sometimes.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You want to get it all out now because—”
“Fucking shit of an asshole motherfucking whore bastard son of a toe fucking titty whore!” He releases a breath, his eyes drifting shut. “So much better. Carry on.”
Ten minutes later, he’s fallen asleep in his chair, his glass of whiskey loose in his hand on the armrest. With his mouth open and his head tilted back, he snores quietly.
I smirk.
“Oh shit,” Logan whispers.
I pull out the Ziploc bag from my pocket—the one containing a tampon that’s been soaking in ketchup and tuna brine since I left the house.
“That’s fucking disgusting,” Jake says.
“You haven’t even smelled it yet.”
As silent as possible, the three of us get up and surround him. I open the bag, suppressing my chuckle when I see the guys cringe—their reaction to the smell. So fucking perfect.
I motion for them to hold down Cam’s hand the second I drop it in his mouth and, because they know me and know me well, they both nod, ready.
I suck in a breath, hold it, then lift the tampon an inch above his mouth. Then I drop it.
“WHAFFUGGGG!” Cam screams, his eyes snapping open. He tries to move but his hands are held down and he subconsciously closes his mouth. Then gags, coughs and splutters until he spits it out. His legs are kicking wildly, trying to get me, and I can tell the boys’ grip is weakening because they’re laughing too hard. I hold my stance, my legs apart, my arms crossed. Then he looks down at what he’d just spat out. “Fuck you!” he shouts, legs kicking, arms attempting to get free. “What the fuck is that?”
Logan’s lost it so much he can’t hold him down. He drops to the floor, his hand wiping the tears from his eyes. Cam gets free, his arm raised.
I throw a hand up between us. “What’s the third rule of mayhem?” I laugh out.
“Fuck you.”
“No violence,” Jake answers for him. “Mayhem is the only form of retaliation.”
Cam stops in his tracks, his breaths harsh as they leave him. “You’re going to pay, Banks.”
“I’ll be waiting, Gordon.”
My third plan didn’t really need any planning, but it does take a day or so to take shape. It’s weak, I know. And to be honest, I didn’t have the heart to do it myself. Jake’s good people. Always has been. Didn’t stop me from asking Cam to help me out. He was all for it. Besides, pink eye for days—totally worth it.
I settle into bed, prepared to sleep with one eye open. I expect nothing less of my friends than retaliation. I grab my phone to send Ry a good night message, but there’s already one there. Riley: I love you. I miss you. Come home to me, okay?
I smile, remembering how all her letters to me started. Letters she doesn’t know I’ve read.
Dylan: You are my home, Ry.
I go to switch off the phone but notice the Skype notification. Riley had downloaded and set it up for me when I came home on R&R. We’ve only ever used it when I was deployed. My eyes narrow as I click the icon, then widen when I see Dave’s name. There’s a bunch of images he’s sent through along with a message.
Hey man. It’s Mike. I just turned on Davey’s phone and saw that he never sent these to you. Thought you’d like it.
I click on the first image—a screen shot of a Skype conversation Dave had with Riley.
Dave: Hey beautiful.
Riley: How are you single, Dave?
Dave: Ikr. What girl doesn’t love a strawberry blonde, scrawny kid with freckles and my mouth.
Riley: Lol. How’s our boy doing?
Dave: We just had two units come in with their vehicles so he’s out working. Poor bastard’s out there earning his keep while I get to talk to his girl.
Riley: haha. Lucky me.
Dave: So what’s going on?
I move to the next image, my heart racing, eager for more.
Riley: Not much. Had car trouble on the way home from work.
Dave: Wtf? Didn’t D build you that car?
Riley: lol. Yes.
Dave: Ry. That dude is in charge of military transportation and you’re telling me he couldn’t fucking build you that piece of shit Honda engine?
Riley: Bahaha! No. It was my fault. Nothing to do with his work. Don’t worry.
Dave: So what was it?
Riley: Oil.
Dave: Doesn’t his dad work on your car?
I quickly move to the next image, wondering how much they spoke and how he knew all this.
Riley: Yeah. The check oil light was on… for I don’t know how long… but I have a picture of D on my dash and it was blocking it so…
Dave: Oh man. He’d be pissed if I told him. Especially since you were probably alone, at night, stranded.
Riley: I called Mal right away and he was there within fifteen minutes. He made me sit in the car and lock all the doors until he got there. He was so mad at me. Lol. You know how D gets… that silent type mad.
Dave: Oh, I know the one.
I get up from my seat and walk over to the table where my bag holding my supplies is.
“How are things with Riley?” Jake asks.
I shrug. “It’s going well. A little too well.” I grab what I need and pocket it before turning around. “I fucked up pretty bad,” I say, leaning back on the table. “I made a lot of mistakes… just waiting for it to catch up to me.”
Cam shrugs. “We all make mistakes, dude. We all hurt the people we love. It makes us human.”
I sit back down in my chair. “Not as bad as I have.”
“Hello,” Cam points to Logan, “I ran away for the year under the pretense of saving lives.”
“Fuck off,” Logan says, but he’s laughing.
“And me?” Cam points to himself. “Do I need to remind you of Slut-of-a-whore-gate? I fucking drew a picture of another girl, bro. I get stabby just thinking about it… and him.” He points to Jake now, then scowls. “Fuck you, Mr. Perfect.”
“Shut up,” Jake snaps, then pauses a moment. “I got drunk and made out with a girl at a party on an away game once.”
We stare at him. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan says. We don’t believe him. Not for a second.
“I just want to fit in,” Jake whines.
“You’d cry if you so much as looked at another girl. Micky would be the one talking you off the ledge,” Cam tells him, then looks over at me. “Truth? You messed up, Dylan. You had every right to. We deal with pain differently.”
“Maybe.” I shrug.
Cam yawns, loud and long and so damn perfect. “I’m fucking fading.”
“Pussy,” Jake says.
“Fuck you! Unlike the fucking rest of you fucking assholes, I fucking have a fucking job. I’m not just fucking cruising through the summer for the fuck of it. I’ve fucking been up since fucking five.”
“Holy shit.” Jake laughs. “Swear much?”
“Sorry. I’m always at work all professional and shit…” He loosens his tie. “…or Lucy’s little brother is always at the cabin and I have to tone down the cursing and it just feels good to fucking swear sometimes.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You want to get it all out now because—”
“Fucking shit of an asshole motherfucking whore bastard son of a toe fucking titty whore!” He releases a breath, his eyes drifting shut. “So much better. Carry on.”
Ten minutes later, he’s fallen asleep in his chair, his glass of whiskey loose in his hand on the armrest. With his mouth open and his head tilted back, he snores quietly.
I smirk.
“Oh shit,” Logan whispers.
I pull out the Ziploc bag from my pocket—the one containing a tampon that’s been soaking in ketchup and tuna brine since I left the house.
“That’s fucking disgusting,” Jake says.
“You haven’t even smelled it yet.”
As silent as possible, the three of us get up and surround him. I open the bag, suppressing my chuckle when I see the guys cringe—their reaction to the smell. So fucking perfect.
I motion for them to hold down Cam’s hand the second I drop it in his mouth and, because they know me and know me well, they both nod, ready.
I suck in a breath, hold it, then lift the tampon an inch above his mouth. Then I drop it.
“WHAFFUGGGG!” Cam screams, his eyes snapping open. He tries to move but his hands are held down and he subconsciously closes his mouth. Then gags, coughs and splutters until he spits it out. His legs are kicking wildly, trying to get me, and I can tell the boys’ grip is weakening because they’re laughing too hard. I hold my stance, my legs apart, my arms crossed. Then he looks down at what he’d just spat out. “Fuck you!” he shouts, legs kicking, arms attempting to get free. “What the fuck is that?”
Logan’s lost it so much he can’t hold him down. He drops to the floor, his hand wiping the tears from his eyes. Cam gets free, his arm raised.
I throw a hand up between us. “What’s the third rule of mayhem?” I laugh out.
“Fuck you.”
“No violence,” Jake answers for him. “Mayhem is the only form of retaliation.”
Cam stops in his tracks, his breaths harsh as they leave him. “You’re going to pay, Banks.”
“I’ll be waiting, Gordon.”
My third plan didn’t really need any planning, but it does take a day or so to take shape. It’s weak, I know. And to be honest, I didn’t have the heart to do it myself. Jake’s good people. Always has been. Didn’t stop me from asking Cam to help me out. He was all for it. Besides, pink eye for days—totally worth it.
I settle into bed, prepared to sleep with one eye open. I expect nothing less of my friends than retaliation. I grab my phone to send Ry a good night message, but there’s already one there. Riley: I love you. I miss you. Come home to me, okay?
I smile, remembering how all her letters to me started. Letters she doesn’t know I’ve read.
Dylan: You are my home, Ry.
I go to switch off the phone but notice the Skype notification. Riley had downloaded and set it up for me when I came home on R&R. We’ve only ever used it when I was deployed. My eyes narrow as I click the icon, then widen when I see Dave’s name. There’s a bunch of images he’s sent through along with a message.
Hey man. It’s Mike. I just turned on Davey’s phone and saw that he never sent these to you. Thought you’d like it.
I click on the first image—a screen shot of a Skype conversation Dave had with Riley.
Dave: Hey beautiful.
Riley: How are you single, Dave?
Dave: Ikr. What girl doesn’t love a strawberry blonde, scrawny kid with freckles and my mouth.
Riley: Lol. How’s our boy doing?
Dave: We just had two units come in with their vehicles so he’s out working. Poor bastard’s out there earning his keep while I get to talk to his girl.
Riley: haha. Lucky me.
Dave: So what’s going on?
I move to the next image, my heart racing, eager for more.
Riley: Not much. Had car trouble on the way home from work.
Dave: Wtf? Didn’t D build you that car?
Riley: lol. Yes.
Dave: Ry. That dude is in charge of military transportation and you’re telling me he couldn’t fucking build you that piece of shit Honda engine?
Riley: Bahaha! No. It was my fault. Nothing to do with his work. Don’t worry.
Dave: So what was it?
Riley: Oil.
Dave: Doesn’t his dad work on your car?
I quickly move to the next image, wondering how much they spoke and how he knew all this.
Riley: Yeah. The check oil light was on… for I don’t know how long… but I have a picture of D on my dash and it was blocking it so…
Dave: Oh man. He’d be pissed if I told him. Especially since you were probably alone, at night, stranded.
Riley: I called Mal right away and he was there within fifteen minutes. He made me sit in the car and lock all the doors until he got there. He was so mad at me. Lol. You know how D gets… that silent type mad.
Dave: Oh, I know the one.
