Break You (15 page)

Awesome. Last night had meant nothing to him. I was just another notch in Jason Bryant’s belt of women. I was glad I hadn’t messaged him for his number, because I sure as shit didn’t want to talk to him again.

Ever.

Cramming my phone back into my oversized pocket, I crumpled up my Kit Kat wrapper and chucked it into the trash can. It was time to make my rounds and see if my assigned residents were in bed yet.

I checked on Mr. Harold first. Poking my head into his room, I noticed he was sitting in the chair beside the window. He was unmoving; the last glimmers of pinkish-orange from the setting sun lit his face and a patch on the floor of his dark room. I flicked on the light and made my way inside the room.

“Mr. Harold, are you ready for bed?” I asked in a low voice. When he didn’t answer I tried again a little louder. “Mr. Harold? Are you ready for bed?”

“Yes,” he said. His hands rose limply into the air, as though he were waiting for me to lift him. “I’m tired.”

“I bet you are,” I said. Sometimes I wondered if sitting around, doing absolutely nothing wasn’t what brought these people to their graves.

“I thought Johnny would come today for sure,” he muttered as I helped him from the chair and into his bed. “I didn’t mean to be ill earlier, Blaire. I was just disappointed Johnny didn’t come like I thought he would.”

“I know, Mr. Harold. It’s okay, really,” I said. His apology broke my heart.

Out of the year Mr. Harold had been with us, Johnny had never showed to visit. He’d dropped him off and never looked back. Even so, Mr. Harold still waited for his son every single day, regardless of how much time had passed.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” Mr. Harold said. His hand came up and brushed against my right cheek.

A shiver ran along my spine from the coldness of his touch. I pulled the covers up over his legs and smiled. “Thank you.”

His eyes were a milky shade of blue, as though they were about to give up against the fight with cataracts he’d been battling for years. His skin had that translucent, paper-thin appearance I’d seen on so many of the residents from time to time. Normally it meant one of two things: either they were sick, or they were about to pass away. Swallowing hard, I tucked the blanket around him and started toward the door.

“Johnny will come tomorrow,” Mr. Harold said to my back. “I’m sure of it.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” I said before turning off the light and closing the door behind me.

Tightness centered itself in my chest. Walking to the computer at the end of the hall, I logged in and clicked on Mr. Harold’s file. Even though I’d just sat with him through his dinner and logged his meal consumption not too long ago, I still needed to compare it to the last few days. A knot formed in my stomach when I realized he was on a downward trend. Mr. Harold had been taking in less food and liquids each day for the entire week. Mixed with the translucent color of his skin and his lack of adequate food consumption, I prayed silently that Johnny would finally come, because Mr. Harold didn’t seem to have much time left.

Closing his file, I logged off then crammed my hands into the pockets of my shirt and made my way toward the nurses’ station to report my assumption. Diane or Gwen would have to verify, and if they agreed that Mr. Harold was, in fact, on his way out…then Johnny would be getting a phone call letting him know the time to visit with his father was limited. Hopefully he would come before it was too late.

CHAPTER TWENTY

JASON

“Motherfucker!” I shouted. I’d busted my damn thumb for the second time while trying to nail one stupid fucking nail into the third step on my Gramps’ front porch.

What the hell had I been thinking when I’d said I could handle the suggested repair list that hotshot inspector had given us? He’d been a nitpicky asshole. Who the fuck was gonna care if one damn step was coming up on one side? I didn’t.  Yet here I was, swollen thumb and all, attempting to fix it. I’d been here since early this morning, because I couldn’t sleep and my mom had expected me to get something done today. I couldn’t let her down. Not now, when she seemed to be so stressed by everything. She needed me and I planned on being there for her this time around.

Holding my head back, I gazed up at the quickly darkening sky. Chucking the hammer to the ground, I bit the end of my thumb and pulled out my cell to check the time—8:47 P.M.  Sitting on the edge of the porch, I checked my Facebook, wondering if Blaire had said anything to me yet. When the page loaded there were a few notifications at the top I breezed through…until I spotted Marla had tagged me in a picture. Clicking on it, I waited for it to load. My service was crappy here for some reason. A smirk twisted at my lips when I realized what the picture was of—me and Marla, sitting at Blue’s the other night. The caption said: “Having a blast with my old high school sugar!” I “liked” it and then posted: “Good times.”

I clicked on Blaire’s picture next and typed her a message.

Hope you had sweet dreams last night, I sure did. But I noticed one thing...I don’t have your number. Seems like that would be a little better way to get in contact with you than through Facebook. Don’t you think?

Clicking my phone off, I finished hammering in that pesky nail and decided to call it a night. I was starved and in desperate need of a shower. Loading the tools I’d used back into my Jeep, I started the engine and headed back to my mom’s place.

Lights were on when I pulled into the driveway and Mom’s car was parked in its usual spot. When I walked through the front door, the scent of garlic hung heavy in the air and I smiled. Music filtered through the house. It was some old-school
Eagles
song—
Witchy Woman
, if my memory was correct. Vivid images of my mom driving down the street to the grocery store, singing along and tapping her thigh with her free hand while I sat in the passenger seat and stared, flashed through my mind. Those were good times; she was truly happy then, because Dad had still been with us.

“I’m home,” I shouted over the music.

Mom came around the corner, a glass of dark wine in hand. “Honey, hey! I cooked.” She motioned to the empty cardboard pizza box on the counter with a smile.

“I noticed,” I said. “I’m starved, so I hope you made more than that little thing.”

She laughed and it made my aggravation from this shitty day of handyman work melt away. Hearing her laugh and seeing her relaxed was awesome.

“I haven’t forgotten how large your appetite is, son, don’t worry.” She moved to set her wineglass down and scooped up the oven mitt. “Did you get much done over there today?”

“Yeah, I got some done—fixed the step on the porch, replaced the toilet seat in the master bathroom, and stained the dock leading to the lake—which took the majority of the day with that little-ass brush I bought. I’ve got to get the fence done tomorrow and then I have just a few more things to do,” I said, kicking off my boots next to the door.

“Good, thanks again for doing this. It’s really saved me a ton of money.” She pulled the supreme pizza out from in the oven and set it on the stove. “How many pieces do you want?”

“I’ll take the whole thing,” I said, only half joking as I headed to my room for some clothes. “After I take a shower.”

* * * *

By the time I’d gotten out of the shower there wasn’t an ounce of hot water left. I was dog tired and couldn’t wait to eat something. I checked my Facebook to see if Blaire had responded back with a number I could call her at after I ate, but there wasn’t anything—she hadn’t even seen that I’d sent her a message.

The music had been cut off and the smell of pizza drifted down the hall to my nose when I stepped out of the bathroom. Mom had set me a plate on the counter with four large pieces of pizza. I smiled. Maybe I was a little old to have my mommy make me a plate of food, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate it when she did. There was even a cold beer beside it. I scooped up both the plate and beer, and headed into the living room to eat beside her on the couch. There was some cop show playing on the TV. One of those shows where they unravel a murder mystery in the course of an hour. I’d never been into shows like that personally—my style of cop shows was more along the lines of
Reno 911
reruns.

Flopping down on the couch beside her, careful not to spill my beer or drop my plate, I made myself comfortable. While I ate, I tried to get into the show, but couldn’t get images of Blaire from last night out of my head. It had been this way all day. In fact, I blamed my sore thumb on those sexy images. They’d been more of a distraction today than anything had the right to be. The urge to check my Facebook once more was nearly overpowering.

Standing, I took my plate, as well as my mom’s, to the kitchen sink. Leaning against the counter, I checked my Facebook. Ignoring my new notifications and all the random crap people had posted up since the last time I checked, I clicked on my messages. The message to Blaire had been seen, but she hadn’t responded. What the fuck? I told myself she was probably busy or something and didn’t have the time to type in a seven-digit phone number for me. The thought that maybe I should just give her mine nudged its way into my head, but I quickly quieted it. There was no way I was going to leave her mine; it would only make me look desperate.

“I’m going to head to bed, honey,” Mom said as she entered the kitchen. She set her empty wineglass in the sink. “I’m beat.”

“Night, Mom.”

Letting out a long sigh after she left the room, I went to the fridge and grabbed out another beer before I headed out to sit on the back porch. I needed some peace and quiet. I needed to go fishing. The desire to load my Jeep up with my old fishing gear from the basement tugged at me. Fishing off the dock behind Gramps’ house had always been the best. Heading back inside, I pulled my boots on and made my way to the basement to gather all my stuff. Fishing was the best way to think about the answers to the biggest problems life tossed your way.

After I’d tossed everything I’d need for a nighttime fishing trip into the back of my Jeep, I got on Facebook again and checked to see if Blaire had said anything yet, because if so then I’d ditch fishing and head to her place to scoop her up again. She hadn’t.

As I went to toss my cell into my passenger seat, Brian sent me a text.

Hey man. Wanted to know what the deal was for next week. Are you coming back sometime or hanging out there?

I had no clue. If I finished everything tomorrow then I’d be able to come back on Monday. I’d be done with this place, but did I want to be? I wanted Blaire.

I don’t know dude. It all depends on if I can finish up with everything I have left tomorrow or not. I might have to wait until Monday or Tuesday to come back. Is that cool?

He didn’t respond back for a while.

It’s cool. I just was wondering ’cuz the water heater at Sarah’s place is out…so I kinda told her she could stay here until the new one comes in.

I smiled as I responded back.

And how long will that be?

About a week.

A week? Sarah would be staying at our place for a week? Images of her sexy tattoo and how I’d walked in on them flashed through my mind. There was no way I could be there with the two of them all over each other for an entire week. Not possible.

You know what, it’s cool. You two live it up. Keep the place to yourself for the week. I’ll stay here.

You sure?

I sighed as I replied back.

Yeah. I have a lot to do and I really need to spend time with my Gramps…you know, before and all that.

I hear ya man. Sending you my thoughts.

Thanks.

I chucked my phone into the passenger seat with more effort than necessary. I felt fucking homeless all the sudden. I couldn’t go back to my place because I’d feel like I was intruding on their “couple time,” but I couldn’t stay at my mom’s either, it was just weird. I’d moved out three years ago, damn it. Why had I packed all of Gramps’ things up? I should be staying at his place right now. Fuck.

* * * *

My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Inhaling, I glanced out at the lake. Fishing, this was all I needed to think about at the moment. Climbing out, I grabbed my pole and tackle box before making my way out to the dock in the dim light of the moon. There were a few solar-powered lights Gramps had installed along the length of it back when I was little and used to spend my summer nights here; those were what I used to guide me farther along.

With the sounds of the night filling my ears and the gentle wind coming off the water, I sat with the pole in my hand and forgot about everything else.

My butt was numb by the time I decided I should head home and crash. Fat droplets of water splashed around me—yup, it was definitely time for me to go. By the time I made it to my Jeep, the rain was coming down in sheets and it was nearly impossible to see. I laughed as I slid into the driver’s seat. Thank goodness I’d left the soft top on or else I would be driving in the rain and the interior of my Jeep would be flooded. I guess I could thank Blaire for that. Sort of. She’d allowed me to pick her up last night and take her home, which was the reason I’d put the top on.

My cell still sat in the passenger seat where I’d left it last. The urge to scoop it up and check to see if Blaire had seen my message yet ate away at me. She still hadn’t chosen to respond with anything. Why? I stared at the screen and pondered on whether I should just type in my number and tell her I’d like to meet up with her sometime tomorrow. That would make me look desperate as shit, though, and I didn’t want that.

I’d came to the conclusion during our date last night that Blaire had not agreed to go out with me because she felt forced; she’d definitely wanted to be there all on her own accord. We’d slept together by the river, of course she wanted to be there with me.

But what if Blaire was into the whole one-nighter thing, though?