Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (3 page)

Andy looked at him. “Yeah, why?”

“Have you wondered how she’s still getting money?” He shook his head. “She’s in the alley behind the bar, Andy. With men. You don’t want Ben around those men, and she’ll start bringing them home next. A bed makes more money than standing against a wall.”

“You take that back, Nash Fowler. That’s a foul thing to say, and you take it back right now. That’s my momma, and you
take it back
!” He stood in a rush and pulled back one fist, his face twisting in fury.

“Son, I would take it back if it weren’t true,” Nash said in response. He didn’t move to defend himself, seemingly willing to let Andy pound him if he needed to.

“GeeMa, don’t listen to Nash; he’s been sweet on her since Daddy died. He’s just mad she wants nothin’ to do with him. He’s a liar,” Andy shouted.

Her head was
bowed over the table, and she shook it back and forth. “Andy, she was a good wife and mother before my Allen died. You know she was. She’s hit a hard patch and won’t let any of us help her. I don’t want to talk about my daughter-in-law anymore right now, but Ben is too important to leave to chance. I want you both to come live with GeePa and me. Susan already agreed to this yesterday, so it’s a done deal, baby boy.”

Andy looked from Nash to his grandmother, his face twisting from anger to sorrow. “You’ll be taking Benny away from me. He’s my shrimp, GeeMa. I do right by him; I do. I can’t do more than I’m doing, and I don’t know what you all want from me. Don’t take Benny away, please.” The tears started trailing down his cheeks. “Please, GeeMa, I got this. I swear…I got this.” He stopped talking, his chest hitching with unreleased sobs. He whispered, “Nash, don’t let her take Benny; he’s all I got.” Shaking his head, he sat down hard in the chair. “I got this. I swear.”

“Andy, you’re coming with him, son,” Nash said, looking carefully at his face. Andy shook his head violently back and forth. “I can’t,” he said shrilly. “You don’t understand.
I can’t.
I can’t leave her alone; she wouldn’t be able to take care of herself and things. I can’t go, Nash. I’ll lose one either way...I lose either way.”

His chin dropped to his chest, tears dripping off his nose and onto his blue jean-clad legs. His shoulders were shuddering with the emotions he was keeping tightly held inside, shaking with such force that the chair legs were squeaking where they were loose. He picked up his head and looked at the two of them again, seeing sad resolve on their faces, and he knew this was over. It was just…over. He’d lost before he even got to fight. They’d take Ben, and he’d lose his little brother.

Looking around the room, he saw for the first time how the room wasn’t comfortable. It lacked the touches that made a house a home. It wasn’t bright or cheerful; it looked like pain lived there. It would only get worse, if what Nash said was true about Momma. There were so many nights he silently carried her to bed so Ben wouldn’t wake up.

He thought about all the times that his brother had woken up, and then not been able to get back to sleep. He remembered the shadows he’d seen in Ben’s eyes this morning when their mom’s door stayed closed through breakfast.

He pulled his bandana from his back pocket, sniffling and wiping his nose on it. Twisting it in his hands, he took one deep breath in through his nose, blowing out through his mouth, and then another, willing himself back under control. Lips still trembling, he looked between them again, then facing his grandmother, asked, “GeeMa, what do you need me to do?”

3 -
   
Where I work

Fourteen
years ago

“Hey, AJ, you picking up that extra shift tomorrow?” his supervisor called questioningly after him as he went to clock out.

Andy stood still, feeling his weariness come over him like a smothering fog. “Yeah, I can if you need me. Can always use the money, boss, thanks. See you bright and early then.”

He walked on out to the truck, sitting behind the wheel for a minute before he jabbed the key into the ignition and started it. Putting his hands on top of the steering wheel, he rested his forehead against the backs of his hands, closing his eyes for just a moment. Between the exhaustion and the stress of taking care of his family, he felt far older than his twenty-one years. He was listening to the men he worked with as they walked through the parking lot shouting and joking with each other; they were off for the weekend and ready to party.

Andy picked his head up, waving at the guys still in the lot as he pulled out onto the road. Automatically shifting up through the gears, he drove into town, pulling up behind the grocery store in the employee parking spaces. Reaching over into the bag lying beside him, he pulled his uniform shirt out and changed while sitting in the driver’s seat. He looked down at his jeans; this pair was still okay, so they would do today. He’d have to wash both pairs of his jeans tomorrow, and get his laundry done for the week.

He needed to get Ben down to the store in Cheyenne to get him some new school clothes. The kid was outgrowing everything he owned, and when Andy saw him last weekend, he needed new boots too. If Andy could get a full week in at both jobs, he’d have a good payday coming and would be able to take care of Ben. He could even gas up the dirt bike and take him out to play at the old ranch. The bike was too small for Andy now, but his little brother was the right size and loved the thrill.

Cheyenne’s Frontier Days would be coming up soon too, and Ben always enjoyed going to watch the cowboys and cowgirls compete at the rodeo. Andy’d have to plan for that, because it was a couple nights, which meant staying in a cheap motel; it never made sense driving all the way back home for only a half-dozen hours of sleep. Maybe he could get a job at the Days to help out, with a bunk for pay, or he could load or unload trailers of stock for cash.

Ruffling his hands through his hair, he tried to smooth it down, but like normal, it persisted in sticking up from his head every which way. He padded across the parking lot, jumping up onto the little porch the daytime employees used as a lunch area. Punching his timecard at the machine inside the door, he grabbed an apron off a hook and slung it over his head, walking and tying the strings around his waist.

“Truck should be here any minute, Andy,” said a pretty, blonde cashier, looking him up and down while twirling her hair around her finger, “but I can think of ways we can pass the time.”

“Hey, Carlee. Thanks, but I need to front some shelves while I’m waiting.” He pushed through the swinging doors that separated the warehouse area from the customers’ domain. God, he regretted sleeping with her now. He’d held out against her for months, but she’d brushed up against him one too many times. Three weeks ago, he’d followed her home. Her tits were nice, but her mouth...he couldn’t stand her talking. She’d been excruciatingly flirty since, but it wasn’t in his nature to sleep with that again. He’d yet to find a piece of tail he wanted seconds from.

This one had laid there like a lump, not joining in at all. He’d about exhausted himself trying to make it good for her. After a half-hour of absolutely nothing, he’d simply taken care of things and rolled off her, snagging his jeans as he walked to the bathroom to flush the condom. Probably made him a dick…he probably didn’t care.

He worked quickly and efficiently up and down the aisles, straightening and making note of items that needed restocking later tonight. Eventually, the call came over the intercom that the truck had arrived, and he made his way back to the dock. He and the driver had become friendly, and they cheerily chatted while they worked together to unload the store’s order from the back of the truck.

Pulling the last half-pallet from the trailer with the pallet jack, Andy parked it along the wall. He used the interoffice phone and called the manager to come verify the order before the driver left for his next stop. Leaning against the wall as he waited, Andy saw a cute brunette walk past outside, more than likely using the parking lot as a shortcut.

He stuck his head out to get a better look, and when he scanned the parking lot, his eyes stopped on a familiar car parked along the back row. Closing his eyes for a second in disbelief, he opened them and then really looked at the car, noting the steamy windows and the single silhouette in the passenger’s seat. Jumping down from the dock, he called over his shoulder at the driver, “Mitch, tell Mr. Hawthorn I’ll be right back, okay?”

Stalking up to the driver’s side of the car, he pounded on the window, using what he thought of as a ‘cop knock’ to get the attention of the couple in the car. The window rolled down a couple of inches at first, and then all the way, as he heard, “Andy, fuck, you scared the shit out of me.”

Andy sniffed and then made a face, smelling the sweet smoke wafting from the car’s interior. “Mom, what are you doing sitting in the parking lot where I work?”

She looked at him, her lips puffy and red, with her lipstick smeared across her chin. In the passenger seat, the man was trying to stuff his still-hard dick back into his pants. “Andy, I didn’t think—” she started, but he cut her off.

“No, you never think, do you? Never once do you think how this makes me feel, finding my mother giving some random guy a blowjob in the parking lot where I work. Oh, and smoking a joint too. You don’t think, Mom. You never have. You simply do what you want, without regard for how it impacts other people, even your own fucking kids. What would Daddy think, Mom, huh? What would he say if he could see you now?”

He ran both hands through his hair, shaking his head frantically back and forth. “I’m done. You’re on your own from here on out. Time to be the grownup for a change.” Leaning down to the car window, he yelled at her, “I am done cleaning up your shit, Susan Jones.”

Turning on his heel, he walked back to the dock, pausing for a moment as he saw the faces turned his way. He suspected the entire thing had been witnessed by his boss and co-workers.
Great, just great.
Course, it’s not like they didn’t already know what kind of mother he had, but this was the cherry on top of his shit sundae today. Using the ICC bar on the trailer to get a step up onto the dock, he looked his boss in the face, daring him to say anything about what he’d just watched. “Mr. Hawthorn, is the order okay to sort out and put away?”

“Yes, Andy, everything’s in order.” Holding out the paperwork towards him, Hawthorn said, “Here’s the list. Let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything.”

Anguished, Andy stared him in the face, “Will do, Mr. Hawthorn. I got this.”

It was nearly midnight, and he was exhausted by the time he finally had everything put away on shelves or in storage. The last one in the store, he headed out the backdoor and used his key to lock the employee entrance.

Walking towards his truck, he saw a couple of kids standing next to it and narrowed his eyes in a hard squint. What were those punks doing next to his truck? One of them looked up to see him coming and took off running, slapping the arm of his friend in alarm. The second boy waited a moment too long, and Andy’s hand wrapped around his arm, holding him in place. The kid squealed, “Mr. Jones, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

Looking at the side of his truck, he saw words spray-painted on the fender. “What the fuck did you do?” he asked, leaning closer. “Does that say
whore
on my fucking truck, kid? Does it?” Kicking his tire in frustration, he turned to face the boy he was holding onto tightly. “You wrote
whore
on my fucking truck? Who’s your daddy, kid? We’re going to go have a chat with him.”

Pulling him into the truck cab, he shoved him across the seat and then sat there, still holding his arm, waiting for him to begin talking. Looking at the boy, Andy realized he was about the same age as Ben, probably only ten or eleven. That made him angrier, because now he suspected that Ben had to deal with this kind of shit too. “Fuck me. Who’s your daddy, kid? Or, I can take you to the courthouse…and we can talk to the sheriff. I’m good either way.”

He rattled off a name that Andy recognized, a local businessman who’d been known to frequent the bars where his mom hung out. He was also known to have a painfully free nature with his hands when it came to his family. “Fuck me,” he muttered, dropping his head back and thumping the window a couple of times, thinking. “Son, you ever do anything like this before?”

In his eagerness to answer, the kid stuttered over his words, “Nuh-uh, no, Mr. Jones. N-never.”

“You know my little brother?”

Less stressed now, he got a clearer answer from the boy. “Yes, sir, I know Ben.”

“You ever grief him about this shit? Don’t lie to me; I’ll ask him.” Andy waited for his answer.

“No, sir, Ben’s nice.”

“Fuck. Am
I
not nice? So
I’m
not nice, and I deserve to have my truck painted up like this?” It had been a rhetorical question, and the kid seemed to know that, staying quiet. “Your daddy hit you?” As far as Andy was concerned, this was the most important question tonight.

Ducking his head, the boy answered, “Not often.”

“Not often still says sometimes, kiddo, right?” Andy probed.

“Yes, sir,” came the quiet response.

Andy took in a deep breath, he didn’t want to be the reason this boy had any more pain in his life than he already did. “Who was that with you?” Without additional prompting, the boy offered up his accomplice in crime, whose father was another jerk of a guy who Andy knew from the mill. “All right, if I let you go, you gotta promise me something,” Andy said, still leaning his head against the back glass of the truck.