Duke
My hand wraps around Stacey’s forearm. She jerks away, and anger ripples off her.
“What exactly are you doing here?” I demand.
Her attention shifts down the hallway to Charlotte. She’s too curious not to be here. Her eyes beg for answers, but her face remains neutral and unaffected.
“Don’t bother her. She’s already been through enough,” I warn, turning back to Stacey.
“And I haven’t?” she snaps, hugging her arms around her waist.
“I don’t have time for this today.” I rub the stress from my eyes. “Do yourself a favor and stay away.” I place my hand on her arm, turning her to the elevator, and shockingly, she follows without a fight.
“I just... I didn’t mean for...” she begins to explain.
For the first time, I notice her puffy, red eyes.
“I know you didn’t, but you need to back off for a little bit,” I offer in hopes to ease some of her pain. She’s not a bad person. She’s just mixed up in a mess. “Things are tense, and it’s better for you to back off.”
The elevator doors shut with Stacey safely tucked inside, and I return to the chair outside of Jacob’s room.
What I wouldn’t give not to have a care in the world, but instead, here I sit, stuck in the goddamn middle like I’m in high school. Jacob may be my brother, but even that doesn’t compel me to want to hang around a place like this.
One thing compels me right now.
Her.
And I have no idea why. A part of me is sorry for her, maybe, but a sliver of me knows that’s not the whole truth. There’s always been a pull towards her, unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I’ve been attracted to plenty of women. The attraction part is easy. It’s the internal need to be around and to protect Charlotte which has me on a loop.
Charlotte speaks softly, as she rattles on and on about how rude she’s been to me. Her words have my stomach flipping inside out. Eavesdropping may be wrong, but it isn’t illegal. Guilt doesn’t settle in until I hear the remorseful tone in which she speaks of me. No one ever feels guilty for assuming the worst of me. It’s a humbling feeling.
My whole life, my mother and father have searched for ways to make me feel inadequate. I don’t dress the right way. I don’t speak as eloquently as they would like. I choose the wrong hobbies. Nothing I’ve ever done has satisfied them. Charlotte seems like the kind of girl who doesn’t give up on a person, and maybe a sick part of me yearns for that kind of dedication from someone.
The hand on my watch click, click, clicks every second I wait for Charlotte. An hour later, and countless strange stares from nurses as they pass, she finally steps into the hallway.
Where I sit, my head hung, I go unnoticed. I see her though. In my peripherals, she stretches out the kinks in her long, lean neck. Stress, exhaustion, and fear mar her face. Why do I feel compelled to ease every inch of her soul?
“What are you still doing here?” Charlotte asks when she finally notices me.
“Can we talk?” Anything else would’ve worked, but this is what I go with because I’m an idiot. I stand from the chair and step in front of her. My heart beats erratically, a strange, new occurrence.
“Sure.” She takes a deep breath. “I could go for some coffee. Walk with me?” She nods her head down the hallway, and I follow behind her.
My eyes naturally land on her ass as she sways from side to side. God, I’m such an asshole.
“Coffee sounds great.” I force myself to step up beside her, ensuring my eyes stay where they belong. We get onto the elevator at the same time. The doors brush against us, closing faster than either of us expect. Her giggle echoes off the metal and causes my own to erupt.
I don’t laugh often. When I was young, I was told to laugh more, but nothing was funny to me. It’s strange to feel appreciation for something most deem as normal.
She pushes the button to the basement. “That was a close one.” Her voice is dangerously soft.
Our ride is cursed with silence, making my skin crawl. Charlotte rocks back and forth on her heels, clearly unsure of what we, of all people, are doing together. The doors open with a ding, and we step out. The smell of fries and fresh brewed coffee invade my senses. My stomach growls in response.
“One coffee, black, and she’ll have...” I order and hand over a ten.
“I’ll have decaf, black.” She reaches past me to grab two stir straws, close enough for her perfume to hit me.
The attendant stares at Charlotte’s chest as he hands me my change. I drop the coins in the tip jar and laugh when he jumps at the rattle. Charlotte’s face softens.
All the tables are empty, but she chooses the back-corner booth. Maybe she’s embarrassed to be seen with me. Charlotte wouldn’t be the first person. Hell, my asshole parents used to request the back room at the country club to ensure no one saw their disobedient, roughneck son.
“Do you always do that?” Her voice is soft with a hint of curiosity.
“Leave a tip?” I ask. “Whenever I can. I don’t need the change, but they might.”
“You’re not anything like I imagined. I mean, you have a reputation for sleeping around; and you’re a member of a fraternity you barely tolerate, but they still allow you to stay. There’s a rumor you did two years in a juvenile detention center, but something tells me there’s more to you than anyone else knows.”
I immediately still under the weight of Charlotte’s hopes for who she believes I am. There isn’t more to me than that. I’m no one special. The way Charlotte’s eyes turn to molten when she looks at me makes me believe maybe there is.
“I have my days of good, but don’t we all?” The coffee burns my throat, and I sit the cup on the table.
My reputation follows me around like thick sludge on my boots. Once again, I’m never going to receive a golden medal for sainthood. Few of the rumors are actually true. I am an asshole. I do fuck a lot, without apology, and always with protection. If that’s the worst things I’ve ever done, then it’s safe to say I can die a decent human being.
“It’s just you tend to walk around with a chip on your shoulder. You’re sort of hard to approach, Duke,” Charlotte says. Her words are blunt but tortured, as if she hopes her accusation is wrong. She fiddles with the two stirrers, dipping the ends in her coffee, then popping them into her mouth several times. Her lips are pink and plump, the black straws a daunting contrast when rubbed up against them. They’re soft, and I wonder what they’d feel like against mine.
“Will you quit?” I beg.
“Quit what?” Charlotte questions, dipping the ends in the coffee once more. Her tongue twists along the plastic. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Put me out of my misery.
“That!” I point to the straws dangling from her lips. “Quit doing that!”
“This bothers you?” She holds back her laughter, but I can still hear the sweet tune, like music on a late night under the stars.
“Let me teach you something, Charlotte.” I yank them from her lips. “When you’re sitting in front of any red-blooded, straight man, don’t suck on a straw. It automatically makes us think of your lips wrapped around our cock.”
Charlotte’s chest rises and falls, rhythmically telling a story I shouldn’t want to read, but she makes me want to peel back each page and devour every word.
“Oh.” Her lips form a perfect, pink circle. She cups her coffee in her hands. “What did you need to talk about?” she asks, quick to change the subject, but my attention remains on her distracting lips.
“Decaf coffee, huh?” I flick the rim of her cup, pulling myself from the smoothness of the skin on her face and back into the conversation. “What a waste. If you’re going to drink it, you have to drink the real shit.”
“No offense, Duke, but we aren’t exactly besties about to braid each other’s hair.” She leans back into the upholstered booth, crossing her arms over her chest.
Well, shit, didn’t see that coming. Maybe the girl has a little more snark inside her tiny body than I thought. I wonder what else I can bring out of her.
“You’re right.” I stall, taking a few small sips of the piping hot liquid. “With everything going on with Jacob, I figured I’d check in on you. It’s what he’d want, and it didn’t occur to me until last night. He’d hate to think you were going through this all alone.” Not a complete lie, but still a bag of bullshit.
“You sure that’s what he’d want?” Charlotte’s chin dips to her chest, and her posture goes slack. She’s keeping herself together as best as she can. I can’t imagine what she’s feeling right now. Her boyfriend is in a coma. She’s helpless. I imagine that’s not a good feeling.
“I’d think so.” The tension in my shoulders climbs to behind my eyes. “You know him better than I do.”
“Sometimes you think you know someone, and you don’t.” Her thumb brushes the lid on her coffee.
My body temperature rises at the change of course of our conversation. Charlotte’s rambling and distant glance speaks volumes. She’s unsure.
“Are we still talking about the same thing?” I ask.
Charlotte’s eyes pop wide at my question. “Ignore me. My mind’s all over the place.”
Her hand covers her throat, and she shakes her head, clearing her mind. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know what to say, Duke. I’m not necessarily alone through all this, but I appreciate the gesture.” She smooths the front of her blouse.
“I know we aren’t friends, but maybe we can be,” I whisper. It’s a strange request. Charlotte’s flat smile proves I’ve made a mistake. “Forget I said anything.” I go to stand.
“Wait, Duke.” The warmth from Charlotte’s hand on mine halts my escape. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Us, being friends.”
“Yeah?” My eyes cast down to her hand on mine. Why do I sound like such a girl? Maybe I should ask her to have a fucking slumber party next and she can paint my nails. The slumber party doesn’t sound half bad.
Charlotte pulls away. The lack of warmth on my hand pulls me from my day dream of having a little pillow time. Her eyes shift from side to side. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. After all, I’m the one who tried to mend the fence earlier today.”
The idea of us being in close proximity makes her uneasy. We’re unfamiliar to each other, and all of our interactions have been a back and forth, a rather fun pull and tug.
“Friends then?” I offer my hand and smirk.
Charlotte accepts the gesture. Her hand is tiny within mine. “Friends then.” She stands and pulls her phone from her purse, handing it to me. I program my number and text myself to get hers. “I better go though.” My heart races when she glances over her shoulder. A twinkle sets in her eyes.
“See you around.” I nod.
Charlotte walks under the red EXIT sign, smiling at me before slipping out of sight.
Nothing good can come of Charlotte and me being around each other. A few large gulps of hot coffee burn my throat. I accept the heat as a punishment for being such a colossal dumbass.
*****
After our weekly family Sunday dinner, I drive Lydia and Randy back to the bar. The tradition started right after Lydia started at Murphy’s. She said we needed a way to bond. Since I can’t cook, and everyone agrees on food, a weekly dinner seemed like a no brainer.
I pull into the parking lot and push the gear shift into park.
“You’re a fucking idiot. You know that, right?” Lydia shifts, and all of her attention is focused solely on me.
What I want to do is pop open the door and shove her ass out, but she’s quick on the rebound and would pounce back in here to finish the lecture she’d started over dinner.
“I don’t want to hear it. What’s done is done,” I insist, glancing at Randy in the rearview mirror.
“She has a point, man.” Randy shrugs, not being much help.
“What’s your motive?” Lydia scrolls through her phone, pretending to be completely uninterested in the question she asks and then tucks it into her front pocket.
“No motive,” I insist. “I owe it to Jacob.”
“To look at his girlfriend like she’s a Thanksgiving dinner?” Randy jokes, slapping me on the back of my head.
“I do not.”
Lydia rolls her eyes, and Randy laughs when I turn to reassure him. These assholes don’t believe me. There’s no persuading them.
“Just don’t do something you’ll regret. That’s a time bomb waiting to explode.” Lydia pulls the handle and uses her foot to open the heavy door. Watching her struggle under the weight is funny. She pokes her head through the open window, and a groan rumbles up her throat at my laughter. “It won’t be funny” —Lydia sneers— “when you’re standing on top of the bomb and your ass gets blown up.”
“Can you please stop, for the hundredth time?” I start to roll up her window, and she jerks back.
“You like her,” Lydia states, checking her lipstick in the side mirror and fluffing her bright purple hair. That’s her, though. She’s spunky and out of control, and she won’t stop looking at me like she can reach all the way down to my goddamn soul.
“What is this? Middle school? I don’t like her.” Lydia’s blunt statement makes me nervous. “Hell, I don’t even know the chick. And to top off the list of why you’re being ridiculous, she’s Jacob’s girl. That’s the last kind of drama I need.”
“Dammit, Lyd, give him a break, huh?” Randy exits the truck and comes to stand at my window.
“You may not know her, but you’re intrigued, which for you is fucking astonishing. No one’s intrigued you since you sprouted pubic hair, Duke. Don’t play dumb with me.” Lydia shoves Randy out of her way, standing on her tiptoes to drop a kiss on my cheek.
“She’s too pure for him. It doesn’t make any sense.” My inner musings escape my mouth like venom from a snake.
“Pure?” Randy’s boisterous chuckle escapes from his belly and slaps me in the face. “If you’re trying to convince anyone you aren’t hung up on this broad, calling her pure isn’t going to help. You plan on taking her virginity, too?”
“Shut up, Randy.” Lydia pats me on the shoulder. “That’s all you had to say, and now, I’ll leave you alone.”
“No, she won’t.” Randy nods his chin towards me. He’s right. This won’t be the last time she gives me shit about Charlotte.
I drive out of the parking lot, leaving the two of them to work a quieter evening of the week. It’s usually one of my preferred nights to sling beers, but tonight is our quarterly meet-and-greet bullshit at the fraternity. This is our way of thanking the alumni for paving the way for us youngsters, and their night to remember their glory days.
Fraternity Row in Anywhere, America is pretty much the same. Brick everywhere. Manicured lawns. Large houses with tall, white pillars. Ours is no different.
Cars line both sides of the road. Our alumni are heavily invested in the frat’s well-being with not only their money, but also their time. Sometimes I think the reason my father stays active is to keep a better eye on my every move.
Most, including my brothers, would agree I don’t necessarily fit the bill of the average frat boy. My no-shit-giving attitude doesn’t stop at my personal life. The house is not exempt from my poor approach and outlook. The fraternity puts up with my shit though, based purely on my father and his wallet. I’d have to go outlaw on their rules to get a boot up my ass. Instead, I go along with the antics, offering a hand every so often to feign interest.
The only thing I do take seriously is my classes. They’re my one chance to make something of myself without having to sling the last name Anderson around to get what I want. I came to Greystone on my father’s back. He’s alumni and a member of one of the most prestigious classes to come through Sigma Nu. I’m a legacy, which offers me some advantages in life.
“Hey, man!” Greg, our president, calls from the main living room. The cocky son of a bitch gossips more than most women.
My chin lifts in his direction, and I drift through the thick crowd, offering a few hellos, until I find Derks in the kitchen.
“What’s up?” I say, not noticing our current company.
“There he is.”
This is the last voice I expect to hear. What the actual fuck is he doing here? My gaze darts around the room, searching for an escape I know isn’t an option. He’s seen me, and now, we get to do the dance. He hasn’t been to anything in months, and now, all of a sudden, he’s interested? Why can’t he just send his checks and not show his face? It’s what we’d all prefer.
Derks offers a silent apology. His head tilts to the side, gesturing towards the poker table. I need to take care in my next steps. Derks and I both understand the situation we are in.
This asshole behind my back is the last thing I need. He’d stab his own mother if it benefited him in any way. He offers his hand, and we shake like old friends, but we both know we couldn’t be further away.
Ari St. James’ handshake is what it is. Tight. Aggressive. A quiet warning to be careful where I go with our conversation.
“Here I am, Ari.”
“Don’t get all worked up,” he demands, kicking out the chair across from him for me to sit. Ari’s small stature somehow takes up the entire room.
“Nothing to get worked up about.” Blood pounds in my ears. This is the lion’s den, and I’m holding a damn steak in my hand.
Ari’s reputation is bad news across the board. Most of the time, he hides it behind a smiling face for the university and an open wallet when he deems pertinent. What the community doesn’t know is how he can afford to pay for a new basketball court and library. Not everyone is in the dark, though. I know. Derks knows. It’s why we tolerate his bullshit. The alternative gets us nowhere but hurt. Meanwhile, the rest of these assholes fawn at his feet like he’s the fucking Pope.
“How’s our boy?” Ari scoops up his stack of black chips and drops them into a pile in front of him. His nearly black eyes assess me.
“You mean Jacob?” I ask. “How do you think he’s doing, Ari?”
“My guess is” —he raises an eyebrow— “he’s awfully quiet.” He’s playing with me like I’m a new toy. He’ll twist and turn until I break.
“And why do you think that?” My chair slides back, grinding on the wood floor from the force of my push. My vision clouds as I tower over the table, challenging him to say one more thing.
“Again, don’t get all worked up, Duke.” His hand ghosts between us. “We’re just having a little chat.” He exchanges amused glances with the goons around him. They aren’t brothers, but Ari St. James gets to do whatever he wants, both in this house and outside of it.
“You’re a sick son of a bitch.” I jab a finger at his chest. I’d give anything to rip this asshole’s life in half, but he’s untouchable. Much like my father. They’re lethal in their choices, not taking anyone else into consideration just as long as they get what they want.
Ari sneers with disgust at my finger. The feeling is mutual. “Is that any way to treat one of your brothers?”
A hand grips my shoulder. Unlike the piece of shit in front of me, the person behind me is an actual brother. Derks’ attempt to calm me is futile. Two more seconds, and I’ll lose any sense of patience I had when I walked through the doors.
“Just so we’re clear” —I rest my hands on the poker table— “under this roof, I may be considered your brother, but out there, I’d never waste a drop of water to put a fire out around your ass.”
Derks steps beside me. Distance is what I need before I make a split decision and lunge at this fucker. Ari’s menacing chuckle taunts me, and my fists clench at my side. I glare at Ari dead in the eyes and aim to leave, but he’s quicker. He slips in front of me, blocking my escape.
He circles his hand to the back of my neck and squeezes. I pull against his hold, and his grip tightens. “It’s funny because, to me, that sounds like a threat.”
“Take it as whatever you damn well please, Ari,” I growl. I jerk to the right, and his hand drops. Neither of us are willing to look away. His nostrils flair with undeniable anger, matching my own.
“Okay, fellas, enough.” Derks’ eyes plead with me to listen. “Duke, I forgot I need you to run to the bar. Check the temps on the fridge. Lydia won’t remember.”
His excuse is complete bullshit, but I can take a hint when I hear one.
“Sure thing, boss.” I salute him and storm out of the room.
The fridge has been fixed for weeks. This is Derks way of giving me an out, a way of making a decision for me. He’s smart enough to know my limits, even when I’m not.
The cool air hits my face when I step out in front of the house, much needed after what transpired inside. Ari has a way of sticking his finger in a festering wound.
To Ari, Jacob and I are a package deal, even when I don’t agree with the shit Jacob pulls. Those two have butted heads a time or two. Like a true addict, the only time Jacob’s gambling is a problem is when he loses. I guarantee Charlotte has no idea about it or who Ari is. Jacob’s a pro at keeping secrets, especially from her.
Instead of heading home, I turn in the direction of the hospital. This is twice today, and even the nurses seem shocked to see me walking through the hallways this late at night.
“Visiting hours were over at ten.” The baby-faced nurse behind the station stands from her chair. Her scrubs have small hearts adorning the fabric, and her hair is in pigtails. Her words don’t stop me. “Sir, I said visiting hours are over.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” I say. “He’s my brother.” Okay, so that’s sort of a lie.
“I’ll give you a few minutes, but don’t take too long, all right?” She smiles.
The room is quiet and dim. Earlier today, I inspected my surroundings. These machines are all keeping him alive and monitoring his vitals. I’m no doctor, but what I do know is it is a miracle he’s here, all while not being here.
“Hey, man.” I scoot the chair closer to his hospital bed. I rest my forearms on my thighs. A black notebook sticks out from beneath a copy of the Greystone Gazette. I pull it out and scrutinize the cover before flipping through the mostly blank pages.
I read out loud from the middle of the notebook.
I wish things were simpler.
You’re not to blame.
Can you love someone, but not be in love with them?
All these random sentences are spread erratically over the paper. The writing is frantic, but even through the messy print, I can tell it’s a girl’s handwriting. A sense of shame blankets me for reading them.
Especially the one at the bottom.
The words are faint, as if they’ve been erased.
Who am I?