Into the Nothing (Broken Outlaw Series Book 1) (6 page)

“He was over here for like five hours last night drinking and talking with Dad. You think I like him? My dad’s in love. And the way he didn’t hesitate to put Benji in his place, I just think Dad’s got a good feeling about him.”

“Shit, I’ve got a good feeling about him too… and it’s in my panties.” She laughs and motions toward her crotch. “If I had been working and saw him do that to Benji’s fat ass, I would’ve let him fuck me right on top of the bar…and I would’ve let everyone watch.”

“Brandi!”

“I’m serious. Fuck it!”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Paige, don’t tell me you didn’t notice that anaconda stuffed into his jeans?”

“
What
?! What the fuck are you talking about? Anaconda? I wasn’t looking at his damn jeans.” I laugh, finding it hard to not to love this girl who has become like a sister to me. She’s the craziest bitch I know, but she’s got my back no matter what. She’s had it since day one. She’s never really had much in the way of family, so she became an unofficial member of ours a long time ago.

“Why
wouldn’t
you look at his jeans? That’s where his dick is! Well, you definitely missed out on quite a show! I’d bet he’s packing at least a niner. Maybe even a ten.” She says it so matter-of-fact that I can’t tell if she’s serious or just pulling my leg, but the chiming of the grandfather clock makes it irrelevant. I’m already late for work.

“Listen, I’ve gotta go, you little nympho. Can you put Rowdy in the guesthouse whenever you leave? You work at Whittaker’s tonight, right?” I stand and Rowdy hops up instantly to join me.

“Yeah, I’ll probably just hang out here and head out around five. You gonna stop by tonight?”

“I might. It depends when Mom lets me leave. The way it’s looking, I won’t get in to work until about ten.”

“Alright, well text me if you end up going. And, dear Lord, please bring that fine-ass specimen with you. I’m gonna go take a long nap in your bed and dream about Mr. Anaconda slithering into my cave.” She stands and heads toward the hallway.

“You have got to stop reading those romance novels.”

“Oh no, it’s not the romance novels. The erotica ones are what really get my pussy percolating.” She cackles and makes her way down the hall to my room.

“You need serious help, you know that, right? How are we even still friends?”

She turns her head, feigning a look of disgust, and then she flashes her wide, beautiful smile. “You love me, whore, and you know it.”

She blows me a kiss and disappears down the hall.

I slipped through the front doors of our shop, my hands full of lattes and donuts. Mom just rolls her eyes and laughs. A welder’s mask sits over her long brown hair, which is tucked beneath a blue bandana. Our latest project is in front of her, half-finished but actually starting to look like a dragon.

“Tough morning, my dear?” Mom pulls off the welder’s mask, setting it aside and sliding her reading glasses on top of her head.

I set the lattes and donuts on the massive wooden work table amongst different metal pieces and parts picked from junkyards and garage sales. There are also several projects in varying stages of completion. Mom never works on just one project at a time. Her mind is always going.

She’s taught me a little of the skill over the years, and though I truly enjoy it, I’m primarily the business side of Watson Metalworks. I got my degree in finance at Mizzou, and I’ve been running the books here ever since. I give Mom shit all the time, but she really is the greatest part of my life.

She came from the other side of the tracks, worked her way through art school and met Dad along the way. Their love is something I dream about. It’s something I long for. Not just yet… but one day.

“It wasn’t too bad. Brandi came over late last night, so she kept me up talking awhile. You know how she gets.”

“Did your new friend ever show up.?”

“Why is he
my
friend? Dad’s the one who took him in like a lost puppy… And yeah, he showed up right before I left.”

“Oh yeah? Those two were quite drunk last night. I didn’t think either would remember.” She slips her glasses over her wise eyes and sits back down on her stool. Then she pulls pencil-drawn plans from a drawer and starts going over them. As if talking to the papers, she asks, “What was he wearing?”

“Mom?!”

“What? I’m just imagining a wife beater and a sexy pair of jeans. Maybe some work boots and a bandana.” She closes her eyes and throws her head back, letting out an exaggerated sigh, followed by a wicked laugh.

“Both you and Brandi need sex addiction therapy.” I head to my desk just a few steps away, take a seat and power up my computer.

“I’m forty-five, dear. That means I’m in my sexual prime.”

My thought: Mom and Dad naked, the sound of skin slapping skin.

My reaction: coffee creeping its way back up my throat.

“Please, mother of mine, keep all talk of your sexual activity with my father to yourself. I may not eat the rest of the day now!” I ball up a piece of paper and throw it at her head. It hits her squarely in the forehead—twelve years of softball weren’t wasted—and falls to the ground.

“The sexual activity we should be discussing”—she leans in and whispers as if telling a secret—”or lack thereof, I should say… is yours!” She chuckles.

“Mom, I think we have talked enough about my sexual activity to last me a lifetime. As an employee of Watson Metalworks, I could no doubt sue you for sexual harassment. Don’t you make me go there.”

“Well, good thing I’m your mother then, huh? And remember, I can still fire you.” She winks. “Now spill the beans!”

“Fine, he was wearing a wife beater, damn it. And holy shit, I almost fainted.”

“Did Brandi get a look at him?”

“You know she did.”

“I can only imagine how that went.”

“If I wasn’t there, I’m positive she would’ve undressed on the spot.”

“Oh boy, I love that girl, but I hope he steers clear!” She stops fiddling with the plans and looks at me. “Who was he eyeing more?”

“Huh?”

“You were both in PJs, I assume?”

I nod. “Well, a tank and short shorts.”

“And I assume you both spoke to him when you saw him, right?”

Another nod.

“So where were his eyes? On you… or on her?”

I think about this for a moment, not immediately recalling who exactly he was looking at. But as I scan my brain for the events that transpired earlier, I’m pleased with what I find.

“Me.” I can feel her smile.

“You liiiiike him.” She makes kissing faces and gets far more of a kick out of it than I do.

“You and Brandi, I swear. What the hell am I going to do with you two?”

“You know you love us.” Mom smiles and déjà vu hits me from my conversation with Brandi earlier. They are so alike.
Too
alike sometimes. But God, how I love them.

M
om managed to finish the day’s sculptures in record time, and she currently has a pot roast in the slow cooker. It fills the house with a delightful aroma, making my stomach growl with anticipation. Dad helps set the table. He’s in from work far earlier than usual and helps Mom set the table.

The chilly early March air bites at my skin as I cross the gravel driveway to the guesthouse to get Xander for dinner. Just as I reach the door, I hear an acoustic guitar being played flawlessly, followed by the muffled sound of Xander singing. I can’t make out the words through the door, but the beauty in his voice is obvious. It’s sounds somewhere between Aaron Lewis and Kurt Cobain, with a touch of gravel but also sweet and alluring. He hits every note perfectly, holding it just long enough. There’s pain in his words, but something else too. It’s hard to tell. Maybe hope?

Before I even realize it, I’ve spent five minutes with my ear against the door. When he finishes his song, I snap back to reality. I rap two knuckles against the door and hear an ‘oh shit,’ followed by the loud clatter..

“Just a second!” he calls, his voice cracking. A moment passes and then I hear, “Alright, it’s open.” I walk in and he’s sitting on the bed, his guitar case stuffed underneath it but still peeking out.

“So, I was told to get you for dinner, but that’s just about the last thing on my mind right now.”

His eyes dart across the room.

“What do you mean?” he asks, knowing full well he’s caught. His bashful state makes him that much more appealing in my eyes.

“I heard you. You are so talented.”

He cracks a nervous smile. “What? I just had the radio playing.”

My eyes roll, and my hands hit my hips. “You little shit, play something for me!” He looks shocked and feigns offense. “No way. I’ve never played in front of anyone.”

“You just did. I was outside the door for a good five minutes. Now play for me.”

“Nope. Never.” He crosses his arms. It’s just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

I’m pouting now. The kind I’ve practiced many times throughout my life. First, to get what I wanted from Dad, and later, from boys I’ve dated. I like to think I’ve mastered it.

“Listen lady, I’m sure that look works on these little Missouri boys, but growing up in Florida a man learns better than to trust a woman with a good puppy-dog face.” He gets up and nudges me just a little with his hip as he slips past me and out the door. “Now, what’s for dinner?” he asks without turning back.

“I’ll have you know this look has been proven to work everywhere! I’m international, baby!” He’s through the back door of the house before I even finish my sentence.