Shady Bay (8 page)

With the extra boost, I decided to pay my rent forward a few months. Jaxon’s brother was only charging me two hundred fifty dollars per month for the townhouse. At first, I felt as though it were charity or pity he was giving me. But Celeste had convinced me that it was a blessing and that my living there was saving my landlord money and headaches in the long run. My living there kept the party-crowd out. Partiers damaged things. They were messy and smelly and all sorts of colorful words, per Celeste.

Shady Bay was insane. I barely got to sip water during my short breaks. It was just too busy. We needed more waitresses but Summer explained that it was a transitional period: the time between Spring Break and summer. Most who flocked here for jobs wouldn’t be here for another few weeks. I looked forward to their flight south.

Each night Jaxon would ignore me, except for the occasional looks of aggravation or disapproval that I saw from him. He’d been aloof and stand-offish since the night he’d seen me and Drew on the porch. Drew and I had gone out to dinner and again, no fireworks went off for me. I asked him if he felt the same, and luckily, he did. We’d agreed to be friends and had both been relieved and happy for the same.

I was dead on my feet when I finally got home. I locked my door behind me, kicked my shoes off in the living room floor and dragged my hind end to the refrigerator. I had one Pepsi left, so I popped the top and settled onto my bed to relax for a minute. I needed a shower. I stunk like fried food and beer. I let that warm water wash the stench of hard work away. I shrugged on my favorite long t-shirt and pink polka-dot panties and collapsed into the bed. I’m pretty sure I was snoring before my head hit the pillow.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Slam! What the? More noise. It was coming from my door or one of my neighbors. The alarm clock’s red numbers read
four thirty-eight in the morning. Bang! Bang!

“Come on. Come on. Come on. Please! Mercy, wake up! Please!” Bang! Bang! Bang!

June? I padded to the door and released the dead lock. June stood with her fist ready to bang my door again. Her eye was black and her lip was split open and bleeding.

“Oh my God! What happened?”

“Let me in. Lock the damn door! Hurry!” She slid past me, pushed me away and engaged the deadbolt. Before I could question her further, banging came from the door again. This was different. Hers had been desperate, scared. This was angry and aggressive. “Open the door, June. You think you can fucking run from me?” Bang! Bang! “Open the door!”

I pushed her behind me and grabbed her hand. It was shaking. I shoved her in my closet with my emergency cell phone. “Call 911.”

She looked at me blankly. “Snap out of it. Call 911, June. Okay?”

She nodded and her trembling fingers sought out the numbers as she huddled into the closet floor. I ran to the edge of the bed and felt beneath the mattress. The banging became louder, more urgent. I grabbed the only thing of my Daddy’s I’d taken with me from home: his gun. Safety off. Click. Clip engaged. Check.

I made my way to the living room again. “The cops are on their way, buddy. Get your ass off my porch!”

“Fuck you! Where’s June? I know she’s in there!”

“Are you the one who messed her face up? You’re a pussy!” Yeah. I said it and I meant it. Only pussies hit women. Daddy had always said that.

“Come on out and I’ll show you what a pussy I am, bitch!”
He sounded big, and mean. Definitely mean.

I heard a
muffled, but familiar scratchy voice. “Excuse me. I think you should leave.” My heart dropped. Celeste.

The sound of footsteps leading down my porch steps spurred me to action. I threw the lock, opened the door and stepped outside. “You leave her alone or I’ll blow your ass to the moon, Dickweed.”

He scoffed. “You even know how to use that thing?” He staggered, half-grinning, half-sneering at me. He looked like a normal guy--neat blonde hair, jeans, light blue polo with what I assumed was June’s blood. I’d expected a leather-clad, bad-ass biker, or tattooed gang member from the looks of June and the banging he’d done on my door. He wasn’t even big. Just an asshole who like to hit woman. My blood boiled. I clicked the safety off, just in case.

“Celeste, go back inside and lock your door. The police should be here any minute.”

“No. I want to see you pump his sorry ass full of lead!” she protested.

“Celeste. Please?”

Huffing, she crossed her arms over her chest. “This is better than COPS. No way am I leaving.”

“I’ve had enough of this shit. Where is June?” Pretty boy started back toward me. Big mistake. I squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the pavement about six inches from his
sparkling white Nike’s. Shock washed over his face. “You tried to shoot me.”

“Nope. I didn’t try to shoot you. I don’t miss. If I had tried to shoot you, you’d be laying on the pavement. Now, you sit your sorry ass on my bottom step and don’t move.”

“No way. I’m outta here. You crazy chicks probably did call the cops.” Wrong answer. He turned to leave so I fired off another shot. He raised his hands in the air and turned back around, walked to the bottom of my staircase and sat down. Sirens sounded in the distance. God, I loved the sound of justice. Especially when it came down to my girl, June. I didn’t hope they threw the book at him. I hoped they beat his sorry ass with it.

It took hours for the police to take statements from Celeste, June, me
, and the Dickweed. Dickweed’s really name: John Templeton. Even sounded like a rat and really? I could smack my best friend. Johnny and June? So yesterday.

The cops called the
EMS and our trusty Paramedic Brody showed up with his medic kit full of goodies. He treated June’s lip, jaw and body clenched tight the entire time.

“You deserve better.”

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but oh, who was I kidding. I meant to eavesdrop.

“I know.”

“Why him?”

“What?”

“What attracted you to him?”

“I don’t know. He seemed nice when he asked me out. I needed a distraction, so...”

I didn’t see it, but dang if I could feel the sexual tension. I heard June moan a little. “How’s that for a damn distraction? I want you so bad and if it wasn’t for this stunt tonight, I’d take you home and have you ten ways from Sunday. Feel me?”

“Yep. Got it.” She rasped.

“Good. You’re going home with me. My shift is officially over and we’re going to bed. To sleep. For now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

I pretended to be exiting the bathroom, but June knew. Brody passed us both by and went to put away his medical supplies. Her eyes were wide. “Oh, my
God. I should have gone out with him. I blew him off. After he asked me out at the beach, I blew him off. I shouldn’t have blown him off. I’d have been with him and not John. This would never have happened. I’m so stupid.” And the tears started.

Funny thing is, I never cried. I didn’t cry when Daddy was taken away. I didn’t cry when they told him he’d spend the next fifteen years in prison. I didn’t cry when Mama repeatedly fell off the sobriety wagon, or when she let dirtbag after dirtbag into our home. I didn’t cry when I packed up and left town. But for whatever reason, seeing June hurt, made me hurt
, and I cried right along with her. I cried for her.

Last night had
been insane. I dragged myself out of bed, in and out of the shower and over to Celeste’s. She was sitting on a stool behind the counter waiting for me. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“So that was an action-packed night, eh?”

“Yeah.” I yawned. I was so tired.

“Your Daddy taught you to shoot well.”

“Yeah. He did.” I smiled.

“Go home.”

“What?”

“Go home. You didn’t get any sleep last night. I saw what time the cops left. You had less than an hour of sleep before the excitement took place. Go get some rest. You have a shift tonight, right?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Go get some rest. You have to rest sometime, sweetie. Between the shop, the bar and you working on your creations here, you are going to get run down fast.”

“I really want to stay.”

“And as much as I love you, I really want you to leave. Go. Get some rest. This job ain’t going anywhere. It’ll be here for you tomorrow. The brightest bulbs can burn out the quickest, Mercy.”

I frowned. “You’re sure?” My eyes were actually blurry and I knew from looking in the mirror that they were bloodshot and red. I looked like a junkie. No wonder she doesn’t want me to help in the store today.

“Go. Just open up tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Crossing the street, I looked over at our little homes, all connected and marveled at how connected our lives had become in such short a time. Jaxon hadn’t come home last night. My heart clenched a little at that thought. I pushed it away and made my way to my bed, where I collapsed. 

My brother, Easton
, bought his wife a ticket on a cruise ship that would leave Charleston, South Carolina and travel through the Florida Keys to Cozumel. So, I met them in the old city and spent the day with them before bringing Donovan back to my place. Little man was ten-years-old and ornery as they came. He always had been. He’d been in trouble since birth. Red hair, freckled nose, and a mischievous grin stared back at me as we pulled into the driveway. I ruffled said hair and grabbed his duffle bag out of the back seat. “Come on, little man.”

“That’s right. I am a man,
Uncle Jax. And I can’t wait to meet some beautiful women on the beach.”

Laughing, we headed into the house to get him settled. My phone’s battery had died about twenty minutes into the trip and I’d forgotten to buy a new car charger. Mine was dead, its wires frayed and exposed from the torn plastic around it. Since the happy couple had to board the ship at
seven-thirty a.m., we checked out and went with them. Donovan thought it was neat to see them off. He waved like he was a little boy again and not the man he thought he was.

I plugged my phone into the charger in my kitchen and settled Donovan into the guest bedroom. “Pop-
Tarts are in the pantry.”

“Pop-
Tarts?”

“It’s gourmet. Get used to it. I’m not much of a cook.” He groaned loudly and fell back dramatically onto the bed.

“This is gonna be a long week.”

I laughed. “Wanna go meet a nice girl?” I’d been thinking a lot about Mercy the couple days I was gone. Hell, I missed her. She was sweet and lit up any room she walked into. Her laughter was contagious and I’d caught t
he bug. No matter what I tried—women, booze, work, and women--nothing could pry her out of my head.

“Is she hot?”

I chuckled. “Yeah. She’s hot.”

“Like Mac hot?” Mac was the nickname of my cousin, Gabriel’s wife. She was smokin’ hot, but not nearly as beautiful as Mercy.

I looked at him very seriously and nodded. “Hotter, man. Hotter.”

His eyes lit up. “Sweet! Let’s go!”

Donovan looked confused when we by-passed the car and headed across the street. “Cool. She’s a psychic? Does she dress like a gypsy and wear the little cymbals on her fingers? Does she belly dance?”