Against the Wall (23 page)

Her gaze darkens at my suggestion. I didn't mean to lead her on, and I doubt she was fantasizing about us getting married. Even so, she might have imagined I'd come back for more. She's a sexy girl, hot in bed. She responded as if she hadn't been touched often enough, or in any of the right ways.

“Omar doesn't listen to me, and I've got my own problems. My kid is sick with the flu, my babysitter just quit, and my car's messed up. I'm going to get fired if I call in again—”

“What's wrong with your car?” I ask.

“The radiator, like you said.”

“You can't afford the repair?”

She huffs out an exasperated breath. “It costs more than the car's worth.”

“I could fix it for you.”

“Don't be stupid,” she says, pushing at my chest. “Just stay away from me, and keep your
pinche cabrón
friend away from me, too.”

I stare after her, feeling like a jerk. I didn't come here to hurt her. I didn't mean to hurt April this morning, either.

I don't want to cause any more pain or destruction. I don't want to be this person, involved in this cycle of violence.

I can't fix the world. I can't put an end to abuse and suffering and crime. I can't change Junior or make him a better person. I can only work on myself. If I want to be an artist with a real future, I have to find a way to pacify my rivals. Otherwise, I'll never break free.

I grab an ice pack from the freezer and wrap it in a thin washcloth.

April thanks me for the item, placing it against her hip. Jenny curls up next to her on the couch while Noah paces the living room. I don't think she's ever seen Noah this upset before.
I've
never seen Noah this upset before.

“Can I bring you some painkillers?” I ask April.

“I'm fine. Really.”

“How's the baby?”

“She just kicked.”

“She?”

“Or he,” she says with a smile, curving a hand over her belly. “A lady at the supermarket told me it's a girl. She can tell by the way I'm carrying.”

“I want a sister,” Jenny says.

My gaze meets Noah's. A muscle in his jaw flexes and he stares out the front window. He's wearing jogging shorts and a white T-shirt with spots of blood on it. Either his or Eric's. “Let's get you some breakfast,” I tell Jenny.

“Can I have a donut?”

I defer to April, who nods her permission. I give her a donut from a box in the pantry, served with a cold glass of milk. Then I walk outside with Noah. I feel like this is my mess to clean up, my responsibility. I slept with Eric and caused trouble.

Noah doesn't say anything at first. His left eye is swollen. He doesn't look angry, just tortured. His throat works as he swallows. “If anything happened to them…”

“I know,” I say, patting his shoulder. My brother's love for his family is one of his best qualities. He adopted Jenny legally and gave her his last name. As far as he's concerned, she's his daughter, his blood. She calls him Daddy.

“I shouldn't have hit him.”

“Did he hit you first?”

“Yes. But I started it, and I'm bigger than he is. I'm older.”

“He's a better fighter.”

Noah doesn't deny it. Although he's athletic and physical, trading punches isn't his style. Eric's no weakling. They were evenly matched. “When I was on my run, the neighbor told me his car got broken into last night. So I decided to check your car for evidence of theft. You left the door unlocked.”

I cross my arms over my chest, frowning. I wasn't thinking clearly after my hookup with Eric. We came home and went our separate ways. I tossed and turned most of the night, second-guessing everything I've ever done. I woke up to the sound of bodies slamming into objects in the garage. At first I thought Eric's rivals had caught up with him. Then I found him brawling with Noah.

“There was an empty package in the backseat.”

Heat rises to my face. Now I understand what the fight was about. Noah knows I took Plan B. I'm not ashamed of having sex or preventing pregnancy, but I don't want to be grilled by my brother on either topic. It's personal and embarrassing, like getting my period at an inopportune moment.

“Mom would—”

“Don't tell me what Mom would do,” I shoot back. “Don't judge me.”

“I'm not judging you.”

“Yes, you are,” I say in a low voice. “You think Mom would be disappointed in me. She'd probably say I'm going to hell.”

He scowls, raking a hand through his hair. “This isn't about what you did after the fact. It's about you not using protection. That was incredibly stupid.”

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you just get April pregnant the same way?”

His eyes narrow at my accusation. “We're married.”

“You weren't planning on having kids this soon.”

“Don't change the subject. Eric isn't even your boyfriend. He's a guest in our house who's supposed to be on his best behavior. Instead of keeping his hands to himself, he took advantage of you again.”

“Oh my God, Noah. He didn't take advantage of me.”

“You've been through a lot lately. You're vulnerable.”

“I'm not vulnerable! I'm in love with him!”

Noah's brow furrows with a mixture of concern and horror. “You can't be. You just broke up with Chip.”

My stomach plummets at this reminder. I don't want to tell Noah what happened between me and Chip. The memory of the abuse makes me feel sick, and small, and scared. But facing your fears is the grown-up thing to do. I can never be a counselor or a psychologist if I can't talk about my own problems.

“He hit me,” I say quietly, staring at my shoes.

“Eric hit you? I'll kill him.”

“Chip hit me.” I raise my chin to meet his eyes. “Chip, not Eric.”

“When?”

“The night we broke up.”

“You're serious.”

“Yes.”

“Is that all he did?”

“He tore up the apartment in a rage. Then he held me down and wouldn't let me leave. I snuck away after he fell asleep.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

I shake my head, unable to answer.

“Did it happen more than once?”

“No, but he'd been getting more and more aggressive. More possessive. The day he met Eric, he bruised my arm right here in the front yard.”

“Motherfucker,” he says, clenching his hands into fists.

“Don't,” I say, touching his arm. I can't take any more yelling or male anger.

“You didn't report it?”

“I just wanted to move on. I still do. Please respect that.”

He sits down on the curb, framing his head with his hands. “I feel like…I've failed you completely.”

I take a seat next to him. “What do you mean?”

“Mom and Dad were counting on me to protect you.”

“I'm an adult, Noah. I might be a huge fuckup, but I'm an adult. I'm responsible for myself.”

“You're not a fuckup.”

“I don't know what I'm going to do after I graduate.”

His jaw drops open. “You're applying to grad school. Aren't you?”

“How can I, when I'm so…”

“So what?”

“So…all over the place. I can't remember to use protection or lock my car. I date losers and fall in love with criminals. I'm the least together person I know. How am I supposed to help other people with their problems?”

He closes his mouth abruptly.

“See?”

“You don't have to be perfect to help others, Meg. If you did, every cop would be out of a job, myself included.”

“You're just trying to make me feel better.”

“No. I think that's your gift.”

“Really?”

He nods. “I was proud of you at the hospital the other day. That's why I said you seemed all grown up. Matthew was hurting and I didn't know what to do. But you did. You helped him, without hesitation.”

“I did, didn't I?”

He puts his arm around my shoulders and brings me closer, pressing his lips to the top of my head. “You might want to work on that ‘falling in love with criminals' thing. Otherwise, you're doing okay.”

“He's a good person,” I whisper.

Noah squeezes my arm and releases me, seeming unconvinced. “He's a talented artist. I'll give him that.”

“That talent could save him.”

“He has to save himself.”

I look across the street, contemplative. Noah is right. Eric's incredible potential as an artist is a lifeline, but it's up to him to reach out and grab it. He has to capitalize on the opportunities he's been given, not squander them.

“I know he's in some kind of trouble,” Noah says.

“How?”

He shrugs. “Cop instinct. It's one of the reasons I don't want him around.”

I think his cop instinct has gone a little overboard. He's crossed the line from hyper-alert cop and protective brother to crazy first-time father. “You have to let me make my own decisions. Maybe you had everything figured out when you were my age, and you knew exactly what you wanted to do with your life, but I don't.”

“I didn't have everything figured out.”

“You knew you wanted to be a cop.”

“Yeah, but I wasn't good at it.”

“You weren't?”

“At twenty-two? Hell no. I came out of college with no practical experience. I'm lucky I didn't shoot myself in the foot in police academy. I made a ton of mistakes as a rookie. They called me Blue Flame for years.”

“What does that mean?”

“It's a term for overenthusiastic new cops who think they can save the world.”

I laugh at the apt description. Maybe I'm not so far off track, if he had trouble fitting in. Self-assurance isn't the same as knowing what you're doing. It's normal to struggle when you're first starting out.

“I'm worried that you'll get hurt,” Noah says, returning to the original subject.

“I'm worried that you'll get shot.”

He arches a brow. “Now you sound like April.”

I stand up, offering him my hand. He takes it and lumbers to his feet. I wonder if he'll be in the doghouse with her for a few days. April loves Eric to pieces and she's not afraid to read Noah the riot act. As soon as we're inside, he sinks to his knees at the foot of the couch and puts his arms around her. She threads her fingers through his hair. It's a raw display of devotion, accepted instantly.

My eyes grow misty at the sight. I continue to the kitchen to give them privacy. Jenny has stolen another donut from the box. She shoves the last piece into her mouth to get rid of the evidence. I grab a powdered sugar one and sit down next to her, eating my feelings.

“Is
Tío
coming back?” she asks, hopeful.

“I don't know.”

“What was the fight about?”

I take another bite of donut, shrugging. I'm not sure how to explain such an adult situation to her.

“Two boys at my school fought once,” she says. “They both got espended.”

“Suspended.”

“Is Eric suspended from the house?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Then he'll be back. There's another word for when you get kicked out forever.”

“Expelled.”

“That's it.”

I eat another donut and stay quiet. I'm skeptical about Eric's return. He never felt welcome here. This morning's rude awakening gave him more than enough reason to leave, and Noah clearly wanted him gone.

After breakfast, I get dressed to go visit Kelsea. She just got released from the hospital and she's recovering at her dad's bungalow in Ocean Beach. It's only a few blocks from Sunset Cliffs, a famous surf spot. Kelsea and I have spent many afternoons there, watching the waves. Her little brother answers the door when I knock. I hadn't noticed at the hospital, but now I realize he's grown six inches since Kelsea's birthday party in November. He mumbles hello and shuffles away. I can hear Kelsea and Matthew bickering in the bedroom.

“Oh my God, Dad. I don't want you in the bathroom with me.”

“You're going to slip and fall—”

“I'll be fine.”

I knock on the door, which is ajar. Kelsea is standing by her bed, gripping the bedpost. Matthew looks exasperated.

“I'll help her,” I say.

“I can do it myself. I'm not
dying
.”

Matthew flinches at her careless words. I'm sure she didn't mean to reference her mother's death. She doesn't always think before she speaks. He backs away from her, palms raised, and exits the room.

“Shit,” she says, under her breath.

“Stay right there,” I tell Kelsea, and follow Matthew to the kitchen.

He opens the fridge and stares at the empty shelves, as if the solution to his difficult relationship with Kelsea might be hidden in there. “I need to go to the grocery store,” he says. “There's nothing to eat.”

“Go ahead. I'll take care of Kelsea while you're gone.”

“Do you think she'll let you?”

“Yes.”

He nods curtly, dragging a hand down his face. He doesn't seem to understand why he butts heads with Kelsea.

“It's because you're so much alike,” I say.

“Excuse me?”

“She's just like you. That's why you don't get along easily.”

“What am I like? An asshole?”

I smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. He's stubborn and demanding—but self-aware enough to joke about it. And pretty hot, for an old guy.

He grabs his keys on the way out. “Thank you. You're a good friend to her.”

I sniffle at the compliment, which means a lot to me. When I return to Kelsea's room, she's holding the bedpost in a white-knuckled grip. Her hair is a mess and her face is pale, but her blue eyes blaze with determination. It must be killing her to have restricted movement. She's not the type to sit still.

“Do you want to go to the bathroom or rest?” I ask.

“I want to pee in private.”

“I've seen you pee before. I wasn't impressed.”

“Don't lie. You had vagina envy.”

I lean against the doorjamb, smiling. “I wouldn't mind seeing your dad pee.”

This gets her. She doubles over and laughs weakly. “You're sick.”

I move closer and put my arm around her. “You're sick. Or are you just pretending? What an attention whore.”

She lets me take her to the bathroom. When she's finished, we hobble out together. She says she's tired of sleeping, so we play videogames with her little brother. At least there's movement onscreen, and she can work the controls. I stay at her house for most of the day. We sit outside and enjoy the parade of surfers heading to and from the beach. Later, in her room, I ask her about the man in the shadows. “Did you see his face?”

“I don't know,” she says. “I don't remember anything after you left.”

“You don't remember me calling you?”

“No.”

“That's weird.”

“The doctor says it's normal with head injuries.” She gives me a sidelong glance. “What do you think he was doing?”

“Waiting for you.”