When I Fall Page 2

  It’s hard work. Really fucking hard work sometimes, but I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.

  I roll my shoulders as I flip through the newspaper at my table, sipping on my third cup of coffee. My muscles are a little sore, but it’s nothing I’m not used to. Giving that skinny pussy the hardest fuck of her life warrants a few aches here and there.

  The front door opens in the distance, and seconds later, Riley comes walking into the kitchen, hands full of bags and some paper towels stuffed under her arm.

  “Morning,” she sings, dropping the bags on the other end of the table.

  “You could knock, you know. I could’ve had somebody in here.”

  I don’t need to glance up from the paper to know my sister is smiling, but I do anyway.

  She looks down at the watch on her wrist. “Please. It’s after ten. You and I both know whoever you had over last night has been long gone for hours.” She drops her hand to her side. “Do you even let the sun come up before you’re shoving them out the door?”

  “Sometimes.” I survey the bags in front of me as she lifts out a few items. I set the paper down and lean back in my chair. “What’s all that?”

  “I went to Costco last night and picked up some stuff for the soup kitchen. You’re always running low on sandwich bags and coffee creamer, so I bought you some.” She puts some of the items she bought away in the cabinets, and sets the roll of paper towels next to the microwave. “I had coupons and made out like a bandit.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I tease behind my mug. “If you feel like doing some of my laundry for me while you’re here, or vacuuming, I won’t stop you.”

  She glares at me over her shoulder as her hand closes another cabinet. “Haha. If I was Mom, I’d be lecturing you on your disgusting habit of sleeping with random chicks every night, and hounding you about not settling down with one already.” She walks over and slides out the chair across from me, slumping down in it.

  “They aren’t random. I’m actually very picky when I go about it.”

  “It’s still disgusting, Reed. I almost tossed one of those 500 packs of condoms into my cart when I was shopping. But then I thought, no, I’m just encouraging his habit if I do that.”

  I let out a slow breath as I set my cup down. My sister and her fucking lectures. “I’ve got plenty of condoms, Riley. Okay? Please, don’t buy me any.”

  She shrugs, dropping her gaze to the table. “They were actually a really good deal.”

  “Stop.” Christ. Get me the fuck off this topic.

  “Do you even bother using them?” she snaps, her pale-blue eyes reaching mine with judgment. “That’s the important part. You could have a million kids running around Ruxton by now. Little baby Reed Tennyson’s everywhere.”

  Baby Reed Tennyson’s? What the fuck?

  “Don’t think I won’t throw your ass out of here too. You’re not exempt just ‘cause we’re related.”

  “Funny.” She smiles. “Just let me know if you find out I have any nieces or nephews. You know how I like to do my Christmas shopping early.”

  “Is there a reason why you’re still sitting here?” I ask, tilting my head with a glare. “Shouldn’t you be at home . . . with Dick?”

  She scowls, wrapping her blonde hair up into a messy knot on top of her head. “His name is Richard.”

  “Which is another name for Dick.”

  “Why don’t you like him? Is it because we’re dating?”

  I stand, carrying my cup over to the sink.

  Not only is my sister constantly in my non-existent love life, she’s also always trying to involve me in hers somehow. I couldn’t care less who she dates, just as long as they treat her good.

  “He’s a shit worker. That’s why I don’t like him,” I reply with my back to her as I wash out my cup. “He knows damn well he needs to get his ass to the job site by 6:00 a.m., and he’s always late. Then when he does finally show up, he’s walking around like a fucking zombie.”

  “A zombie?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, turning around after drying my hands with the towel hanging on the stove. I brace myself with my hands gripping the counter. “A love-sick zombie. He looks like an idiot.”

  My sister blinks rapidly, and reaches up to adjust her glasses. “Really?” she asks quietly with a trembling lip.

  Oh, Christ.

  “He’s never actually told me he loves me. Do you really think he does?”

  I lean back, grimacing. “How the hell should I know how he feels about you?”

  “Don’t you guys talk while you’re at the shop? Or when you’re on your lunch break?”

  “No,” I answer, flatly. “The only thing I say to Dick is why the fuck are you late? and go do something. He’s lucky I’m desperate for laborers right now, or I would’ve fired his ass already.”

  She gives me a cunning smile, and I know exactly what she’s silently suggesting.

  “I’m not asking him.”

  Her head falls back with a loud grunt. “You suck as a big brother. If this situation were reversed, I would totally find out how some chick felt about you.”

  “I know exactly how chicks feel about me. They’re usually pretty damn vocal when I’m . . .”

  She holds her hand up. “Okay. Thanks. That’s . . .” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to know.”

  I laugh as the heat burns across her cheeks.

  Riley is always quick to embarrass. Since we’re related, and she bugs the shit outta me about stuff, I push her buttons any chance I get.

  She stands, sliding her chair back under the table.

  “You leaving?”

  Her head drops into quick nods, her eyes casted to the floor. She doesn’t move, doesn’t make any attempts to leave the spot she’s suddenly glued to. She’s nervous about something. Going as far as to avoid eye-contact.

  “What?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest. “Did that asshole say something to you about asking me for another raise? He’s not getting one. Tell him to start showing up on time and maybe I’ll consider it.”

  Her eyes slowly reach mine, and she winces before saying, “I ran into Molly at Costco.”

  My stomach drops to the floor.

  I don’t want to react to that name. Nine fucking years should’ve made it so I don’t give a damn about any woman named Molly, but every muscle in my body tenses. My forearms begin to burn as my arms lock, tightening against my body.

  Fucking shit.

  Riley frowns, takes in the reaction I’m doing a shit job at hiding, and lets out a loud, brusque exhale. “I know. If it makes you feel any better, I contemplated ramming into her with my grocery cart. But, I had eggs in there.”

  “She’s not back here, is she?”

  Last I heard, four years ago from some asshole I went to high school with who decided I wanted to know this information, Molly graduated from Virginia Tech but decided to stay there instead of moving back home. I like her being ten hours away. I’d like a greater distance if I could get it.

  China. Australia. Fucking Mars would be awesome.

  “I have no idea,” Riley answers, taking a step forward. “But, she was shopping at a store where you buy items in bulk. I don’t think people do that if they’re just here for a visit.”

  “You didn’t talk to her?”

  Her eyes widen in shock. “No way. Why would I? As soon as I saw her, I turned and went down another aisle. I don’t have anything to say to her.”

  I close my eyes, raking both hands down my face.

  This fucking sucks for several reasons. One, we’re talking about Molly, and I don’t fucking talk about Molly to anyone. I don’t like thinking about that bitch, and talking about her makes that a problem. Two, my sister knows this shit affects me, and I hate that. She’s practically rubbing my back, telling me everything is going to be okay with the sympathetic look she’s giving me. Fuck that. This shouldn’t bother me! She knew, even before she said it, this would get to me, and that pisses me of
f. I shouldn’t care. My sister shouldn’t know this will affect me. I should be over this.

  What. The. Fuck.

  I do what I have to do to save any shred of manhood I have left. I lie.

  “Who the fuck cares if she’s back? That bitch could move in next door, fuck every guy in the neighborhood except me on her porch, and I wouldn’t give a shit. I don’t care what she does or where the fuck she lives.” I grab my car keys off the hook hanging on the wall and stride past Riley out of the kitchen.

  I need to get out of here. Riley likes to talk, and I’m not talking about this. Not with her.

  “Hey! Where are you going?” she shouts behind me.

  “Out. Lock up when you leave.”

  I pull the front door shut behind me as my other hand reaches for the phone in my pocket. As I’m backing out of the driveway, the call connects.

  “This better be important, dick. She’s asleep.”

  I ignore the half-joking, half-I’ll-kick-your-ass tone in Luke’s voice. Any other day I’d have some smart-ass rebuttal, but my mind is too busy trying to wrap around the information that was just dumped on me.

  “Wake her up,” I reply, shifting the truck into drive. “I’m on my way over.”

  Beth

  I OPEN MY EYES AND for the briefest moment, forget where I am.

  Normal people might panic waking up in a strange room. The unknown is always frightening compared to the familiar, but I guess I’m not normal. I don’t feel anything besides a happiness I haven’t felt in a really long time, maybe ever, as I piece together why I’m in this bedroom, and not in Rocco’s.

  The phone call I made yesterday to an aunt I never knew existed. The eight hour drive from Louisville to Ruxton, which left me too exhausted to do anything besides pass out face-down on this beautiful, quilted comforter.

  I smile against my pillow as the memory of my arrival in Alabama plays out in my mind.

  My aunt’s contained excitement, the tears in her eyes as she welcomed me into her home very early this morning. Very, very early. I think she knew I needed sleep, because she didn’t try and rope me into twenty-two years of missed conversation. I would’ve talked if she wanted it. I would’ve given her every last word to show my gratitude for what she’s giving me, but she didn’t press for it. Instead, she showed me to this delicately decorated bedroom, with light purple walls and girly accents, and then, darkness.

  The unknown is always frightening compared to the familiar.

  Not in this case. Not with my familiar.

  A knock on the door has me sitting up, hugging my knees against my chest.

  “Come in,” I call out through my hoarse morning voice, seconds before my aunt’s face peers through the small opening.

  She smiles, her dark hair pinned back into a high bun. “Hey, darlin.’ I was just checking to see if you were up yet.”

  I nod, shifting on the mattress. “I just woke up.” My eyes fall to the foot of the bed, where the boots I didn’t bother taking off have left a trail of dried up mud crumbles, streaking across the lavender quilt.

  My heart suddenly grows too heavy in my chest.

  “Oh my God. I’m so, so sorry.”

  I swing my legs off the bed and stand, leaning over the quilt and gathering up the tiny pellets. The comforter isn’t stained, thank God, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.

  My aunt joins my side, holding out her hand. “Here,” she says with the softest voice, taking the balls of mud from me and picking up the rest on the comforter.

  I rub my hand over the quilt as she drops the dirt into the trashcan by the dresser.

  “Are you hungry? I made some pancakes earlier. I’d be more than happy to heat you up some.”

  I look over at the alarm clock on the dresser, noting the time.

  “Or,” she continues through a small laugh. “Since it is three in the afternoon and not breakfast, I can make you a sandwich or something.”

  I shake my head, smiling. “No, pancakes sound great. I love breakfast food.”

  “Me too,” she replies. “I’ll see you downstairs then. Your Uncle Danny is dying to meet you. He’s been going a little stir crazy waiting for you to wake up.”

  Regret churns in my gut. “Oh, I shouldn’t have slept so long. I didn’t mean to make him wait.”

  She frowns, standing in the doorway. “Darlin,’ you don’t need to apologize for anything. Okay? We’re so happy you’re here. You have no idea.”

  My shoulders lower a few inches as I let out a slow breath. “I’m happy I’m here too.”

  “You come down when you’re ready.”

  She shuts the door behind her, and I take a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling at the laces of my boots. I carry them over to the trashcan and knock off any remaining dirt, cursing myself.

  I know I must’ve tracked mud into the house when I arrived.

  I set them by the door and pull an old Rolling Stones T-shirt out of my duffle, slipping it on and tossing the one I was wearing onto the chair in the corner of the room. I could put my dirty clothes in the laundry basket, but I don’t want my aunt thinking she has to do my laundry. In fact, I’d rather do all of their laundry, just to show my appreciation somehow.

  After brushing my teeth, taming my wild bed-head hair, and washing my face in the hallway bathroom, I head down the stairs, following the sound of voices in the kitchen.

  Hattie is standing at the island, setting silverware and a bottle of syrup next to the plate that’s stacked high with pancakes. She looks up and taps the shoulder of the man standing next to her, getting his attention off the magazine he’s flipping through.

  He’s tall, his thin frame towering over Hattie, who resembles my mother and me in size. His dark hair is tucked behind his ears, hanging down to his shoulders, which makes him look younger than I imagine he is. His features are prominent, a thin nose and strong jaw, and his skin has a light tan to it.

  Hattie smiles as I step up to the island. “Beth, darlin,’ this is your Uncle Danny.”

  He sets the magazine down in front of him and extends his hand to me, the sleeve of his flannel sliding up higher to reveal the ink on his arm. It’s colorful, bright purples and blues, and my eyes appreciate it for several seconds, trying to decipher the design before I finally settle on his face. His thin lips spread into a smile.

  “Nice to meet you, Beth.”

  “You too. It’s so nice to meet you.” His large hand encloses around mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you both so much for opening your home to me.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, letting go of my hand. A deep frown line sets into his forehead as he tucks both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You don’t ever need to thank us. You’re family. Our home is yours for as long as you need it.”

  I blink away my tears as I take a seat at the island.

  Family. I have a family.

  “Beth, I know you just got here, and I don’t want to bombard you with questions . . .”

  “It’s okay,” I interrupt, smiling at Hattie. “You can ask me anything you want.”

  I figured this was coming. Our two conversations on the phone had been brief, and I know I’d be filled with questions if I was her.

  She blinks several times, folding her hands in front of her on the island. “What was she like?”

  I reach up and tuck my long hair behind my ears, clearing my throat before I begin.

  “I’m sorry,” she adds, before I have a chance to speak. “It’s just . . . it’s been twenty-seven years since I talked to my sister. I know the kind of person she was when she ran off, and I’m really hoping you’re about to tell me she was at least a good mom to you. I don’t think I could bare to hear it if she wasn’t.”

  “She was,” I reply, nodding my head quickly. “She loved me, I know she did. I have some really great memories with my mom.”

  “Have you always lived in Kentucky?”

  “I think so. I don’t really remember where we liv
ed before we moved into the trailer. I was six when we got that place.”

  Danny opens the refrigerator and pours three glasses of iced tea, handing one to me and then one to Hattie. I take a sip, quenching my thirst while Hattie does the same. It’s sweet, with a hint of lemon.

  “So, she had a job?” she asks after setting her glass down.

  “No.” I look between the two of them, wrapping both hands around the chilled glass in front of me. “I . . . I’m not sure how my momma got money. I didn’t want to know, so I didn’t ask. We got food stamps, and the bills always got paid. I wanted to get a job to make some money on my own, but she didn’t want me to do that. She said she was the parent, and she would provide for me.” I take another sip of my drink, licking the tea off my lips. “She was very adamant about that.”

  “What about your dad?” she asks, timidly. “Was he around?”

  “No,” I answer. “I’ve never met him. I don’t even know who he is.”

  Hattie looks over at Danny, and I drop my head, feeling slightly ashamed from that admission.

  “You said you found a picture your mom kept of the two of us,” she says after a few moments of silence. I look up, and she gives me a weak smile. “You wouldn’t happen to have it with you, would you?”

  I reach into the back pocket of my jeans, sliding out the old photo I stuck in there before I left Kentucky, and hand it over to her.

  She brings the photo up to her face, her eyes instantly welling up with tears. One hand presses against her mouth. “Oh my God. I remember this. This was taken a few months before your Mom took off.”

  She shows it to Danny, and he wraps his arm around her waist while they both study it.

  “I found it in this old shoe box my mom kept our photos in. It was the only thing I took with me besides clothes when I got evicted from the trailer, but I never really looked through it until a couple days ago when I was missing her. I found that and . . .” I pause, gaining Hattie and Danny’s attention off the photo. “You two looked so much alike. Growing up, Momma never talked about her family. I figured if she had any siblings, she would’ve mentioned them. So, I thought maybe you were a distant cousin or something.”